The burden of strange seasons. Rain all night,
Blown-rain and wind co-mingling all the day;
Perchance we say the morrow will be bright;
But lo, the morrow is as yesterday:
With sullen skies and sunsets cold and gray,
With lights reverse, the heavy hours retire;
And so the strange sad season slips away—
I pray thee put fresh coals upon the fire.
The burden of rheumatics. This is sore
Damp, and east wind maketh it past bearing;