O DULL cold northern sky, <br />O brawling sabbath bells, <br />O feebly twittering Autumn bird that tells <br />The year is like to die! <br /> <br />O still, spoiled trees, O city ways, <br />O sun desired in vain, <br />O dread presentiment of coming rain <br />That cloys the sullen days! <br /> <br />Thee, heart of mine, I greet. <br />In what hard mountain pass <br />Striv'st thou? In what importunate morass <br />Sink now thy weary feet? <br /> <br />Thou run'st a hopeless race <br />To win despair. No crown <br />Awaits success, but leaden gods look down <br />On thee, with evil face. <br /> <br />And those that would befriend <br />And cherish thy defeat, <br />With angry welcome shall turn sour the sweet <br />Home-coming of the end. <br /> <br />Yea, those that offer praise <br />To idleness, shall yet <br />Insult thee, coming glorious in the sweat <br />Of honourable ways.<br /><br />Robert Louis Stevenson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/o-dull-cold-northern-sky/
