A burden of foul weathers. Dim daylight
And summer slain in some sad sloppy way,
And pitiless downpour that comes by night,
And watery gleam that has no heart by day,
And change from gray to black, from black to gray,
And weariness that doth at each repine;
Grief in all work, and pleasure in no play—
Anno Salutis eighteen seventy-nine.
The burden of vain blossoms. This is sore
A burden of false hope in fruit-bearing: