The gloom that breathes upon me with these airs <br />Is like the drops which strike the traveller's brow <br />Who knows not, darkling, if they bring him now <br />Fresh storm, or be old rain the covert bears. <br />Ah! bodes this hour some harvest of new tares, <br />Or hath but memory of the day whose plough <br />Sowed hunger once,—the night at length when thou, <br />O prayer found vain, didst fall from out my prayers? <br />How prickly were the growths which yet how smooth, <br />Along the hedgerows of this journey shed, <br />Lie by Time's grace till night and sleep may soothe! <br />Even as the thistledown from pathsides dead <br />Gleaned by a girl in autumns of her youth, <br />Which one new year makes soft her marriage-bed.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lxviii-a-dark-day/
