Not a wind blows and I have cried for storm! The night is still and sullen and too bright, Still and not cold,-- the airs around me warm Rise, and I hate them, and I hate the night. Yet I shall hate the day more than the hush Henceforth forever, as life more than death;-- And I have cried to hear the wild winds rush To drown my words, to drown my living breath.
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