Poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell

Woe Is Me

Far in the cradling sky,
Dawn opes his baby eye,
Then I awake and cry,
Woe is me!


Morn, the young hunter gay,
Chases the shadows gray,
Then I go forth and say,
Woe is me!


Noon! drunk with oil and wine,
Tho' not a grief is thine,
Yet shalt thou shake with mine!
Woe is me!


Eve kneeleth sad and calm,
Bearing the martyr's palm;
I shriek above her psalm,
Woe is me!


Night, hid in her black hair
From eyes she cannot dare,
Lies loud with fierce despair;
Then I sit silent where
She cries from her dark lair
Woe is me! 

1. To James Y. Simpson
2. The Market-Wife's Song
3. Czar Nicholas
4. On Receiving a Book from Dante Rossetti
5. The Olive

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