Уильям Мазервелл (William Motherwell)

The Midnight Wind

Mournfully, oh, mournfully
  This midnight wind doth sigh,
Like some sweet plaintive melody
  Of ages long gone by:
It speaks a tale of other years--
  Of hopes that bloom'd to die--
Of sunny smiles that set in tears,
  And loves that mouldering lie.

Mournfully, oh, mournfully
  This midnight wind doth moan;
It stirs some chord of memory,
  In each dull heavy tone:
The voices of the much-loved dead
  Seem floating thereupon--
All, all my fond heart cherished,
  Ere death hath made it lone.

Mournfully, oh, mournfully
  This midnight wind doth swell,
With its quaint pensive minstrelsy,
  Hope's passionate farewell.
To the dreamy joys of early years,
  Ere yet grief's canker fell
On the heart's bloom--ay, well may tears
  Start at that parting knell!

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