| Now dreary dawns the eastern light |
|
|
| They shall have breath that never were |
|
|
| When the eye of day is shut |
|
|
| Oh turn not in from marching |
|
|
| When first my way to fair I took |
|
|
| When summer's end is nighing |
|
|
| The Rainy Pleiads wester |
|
|
| The Farms of home lie lost in even |
|
|
| Tarry, delight, so seldom met |
|
|
| How clear, how lovely bright |
|
|