O’er each one’s busy day the nightshades close;
Its Actors, Sufferers, Schools, Kings, Armies—sleep.
‘V.’
CCCIV
MY PSALM.
I mourn no more my vanished years:
Beneath a tender rain,
An April rain of smiles and tears,
My heart is young again.
The west winds blow, and singing low, 5
I hear the glad streams run;