WHEREIN HIS NIGHTS, LIKE HIS DAYS, ARE DEDICATED TO DARKNESS AND LAMENTATION

When the sun whips his horses snorting flame
And pawing crimson to the western wave,
Grief grinds my soul in darkness like the grave;
Sick moon and stars, streaked heaven watch my shame:
What folly then to weep, rehearse my name,
Paint the unheeded pathos of a slave,
Lament a false world, one who will not save —
Love, Laura, self and destiny to blame!
From evening's violet look to dawn's high shout
Sleep with averted sidelong glare I follow:
No rest, but groans that wrench my spirit out —
And ah, Aurora! The dense air grows light,
Though not my soul whose harsh unholy night
One sun alone can lift, one sun can hallow!