ALL the skies had gloomed in gray, Many a week, day after day. Nothing came the blank to fill, Nothing stirred the stagnant will. Winds were raw; buds would not swell: Some malign and sullen spell Soured the currents of the year, And filled the heart with lurking fear. In his room he moped and glowered, Where the leaden daylight lowered; Drummed the casement, turned his book Hating nature's hostile look. Suddenly there came a day When he flung his gloom away. Something hinted help was near: Winds were fresh and sky was clear; Light he stepped, and firmly planned,— Some good news was close at hand Truly: for when day was done, He was lying all alone, Fretted pulse had ceased to beat, Very still were hands and feet, And the robins through the long Twilight sang his slumber song.
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