Is it of new, fair lands,
Of fresh-lit worlds that in the welkin burn!
Do new oäses gem Zahara’s sands,
Or the lost Pleiad to the skies return?
Nay! ’tis a voice of grief,
Of grief subdued, but deepened through long years,
The soul of Sorrow, seeking not relief,
Still gathering bitter knowledge without tears.
For thou, since earth was young
And rose green Eden purpled with the morn,