Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/285



! O, mournfully This midnight wind doth sigh, Like some sweet plaintive melody Of ages long gone by: It speaks a tale of other years— Of hopes that bloomed to die— Of sunny smiles that set in tears, And loves that mouldering lie!

Mournfully! O, mournfully This midnight wind doth moan; It stirs some chord of memory In each dull heavy tone: The voices of the much-loved dead Seem floating thereupon— All, all my fond heart cherished Ere death had made it lone.

Mournfully! O, mournfully This midnight wind doth swell,