—Some curious futile work twelve men at most
Will read and yawn over.) The dizzy ghost,
Like some more ignorant moth circles the light...
Not suffered wholly for nothing! ...
"A sweet night!"
The old man mumbles.... A warmth is in the air,
He smiles, not knowing why. He moves his chair
Closer against the table. And sitting bowed
Lovingly turns the leaves and chants aloud.
LYRIC IN GLOOM
Knights and ladies all are dead,
Heigh-ho! so am I!
Now the sunset falls like lead,
Never a star is in the sky.
Near or far,
Never a star!
Knights and ladies all are dead.
Heigh-ho! so am I!
We shall never be born again!
Heigh-ho! why should we?
Jesus, first and last of men,
Christ I crucified in me.
Near or far,
Never a star!
We shall never be born again,
Heigh-ho! why should we?