Despondency

Ah ! would to God that I were lying
Alone in some lonely place,
With only the wind blowing, and the clouds flying,
And the rain on my face.

Ah! would to God that I should never
Hear sound of voice again,
But only the wind in clashing tree-tops ever,
Ever the plashing rain.

And the noise of distant sea-waves slowly breaking
On passive shore—
These only hear, these feel, and while earth's making,
Hear, feel no more.

Scribulos.