A mournful silence fills the sky,
And falls upon the gazer's soul,
And down the sympathizing cheek,
The watery teardrops silent roll.
The beauty of the peaks and plains,
The loveliness of earth and sky,
Have passed away, and, passing, said,
"Ye mortals frail! ye too must die."
So has the beauty of my hopes
Withered beneath woe's wintry touch,—