When shrieks the wintry wind.
So doubtful thoughts, grey dial-stone,
Come sweeping o'er my mind.
I think of what could place thee here,
Of those beneath thee laid,
And ponder if thou wert not raised
In mockery o'er the dead.
Nay, man, when on life's stage they fret.
May mock his fellow-men!
In sooth, their soberest freaks afford