DESPONDENCY.
Oh, balmy night—a night in June—
What endless beauties thine!
Hast thou a balm thou'lt gently breathe
O'er tired souls like mine?
The cricket 'neath the old porch floor
Chirps forth a merry lay;
The roses nod and smile at me—
"A sweet good-night," they say.
Oh, cricket, hush your merry song;
How can you be so gay?
Ye roses bow your crimson heads,
And mourn my vanished day.