The Rain It Raineth
The homeless bird has a weary time When the wind is high and moans through the grass: The laughter has fainted out of my rime-- Oh! but the life that will moan and pass! An oak-tree wrestling on the hill, And the wind wailing in the grass-- And life will strive with many an ill For many a weary day ere it pass-- Wailing, wailing a winter threne In the clouds on high and low in the grass; So for my soul will he raise the keen When I from the winds and the winters pass.
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