And all bright things are away to rest—
Why watch ye here alone?
“Is not your world a mournful one,
When your sisters close their eyes,
And your soft breath meets not a lingering tone
Of song in the starry skies?
“Take ye no joy in the dayspring’s birth
When it kindles the sparks of dew?
And the thousand strains of the forest’s mirth,
Shall they gladden all but you?