Sara Teasdale

Gray Fog

A fog drifts in, the heavy laden
 Cold white ghost of the sea—
One by one the hills go out,
 The road and the pepper-tree.

I watch the fog float in at the window
 With the whole world gone blind,
Everything, even my longing, drowses,
 Even the thoughts in my mind.

I put my head on my hands before me,
 There is nothing left to be done or said,
There is nothing to hope for, I am tired,
 And heavy as the dead.