I am tired to-night, and something, <br /> The wind maybe, or the rain, <br />Or the cry of a bird in the copse outside, <br /> Has brought back the past and its pain. <br />And I feel as I sit here thinking, <br /> That the hand of a dead old June <br />Has reached out hold of my heart’s loose strings, <br /> And is drawing them up in tune. <br /> <br />I am tired to-night, and I miss you, <br /> And long for you, love, through tears; <br />And it seems but to-day that I saw you go – <br /> You, who have been gone for years. <br />And I seem to be newly lonely – <br /> I, who am so much alone; <br />And the strings of my heart are well in tune, <br /> But they have not the same old tone. <br /> <br />I am tired; and that old sorrow <br /> Sweeps down the bed of my soul, <br />As a turbulent river might suddenly break <br /> Away from a dam’s control. <br />It beareth a wreck on its bosom, <br /> A wreck with a snow-white sail, <br />And the hand on my heart-strings thrums away, <br /> But they only respond with a wail.<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tired/
