I seemed to hear my mother’s voice.
She had been sleeping twenty years,
And yet her voice came back to me,
Beside the sea, beside the sea.
WINTER’S SORROWS.
There’s a bitterness and sorrow in the Winter’s leaden air,
A chilling sort of something that’s akin to human care,
A tender gray of sadness, like a voice of bygone gladness,
In the ashen sombre atmosphere that lingers everywhere.