And now, when merry winds do blow, <br />And rain makes trees look fresh, <br />An overpowering staleness holds <br />This mortal flesh. <br /> <br />Though well I love to feel the rain, <br />And be by winds well blown -- <br />The mystery of mortal life <br />Doth press me down. <br /> <br />And, In this mood, come now what will, <br />Shine Rainbow, Cuckoo call; <br />There is no thing in Heaven or Earth <br />Can lift my soul. <br /> <br />I know not where this state comes from -- <br />No cause for grief I know; <br />The Earth around is fresh and green, <br />Flowers near me grow. <br /> <br />I sit between two fair rose trees; <br />Red roses on my right, <br />And on my left side roses are <br />A lovely white. <br /> <br />The little birds are full of joy, <br />Lambs bleating all the day; <br />The colt runs after the old mare, <br />And children play. <br /> <br />And still there comes this dark, dark hour -- <br />Which is not borne of Care; <br />Into my heart it creeps before <br />I am aware.<br /><br />William Henry Davies<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dark-hour/
