languagehat.com: A COLD MEASURE.
With cold hand of poor farmer
Meager rays are sowing light
Like gray bird I slowly carry
In my heart my sadly plight
What to do with wounded creature
While the sky is dumb and mean?
Bells are gone; drowsy belfry
In the fog is hardly seen.
It is standing, sadly orphaned
And the heights are dreary mist
As in ghostly empty tower
Where foggy silence is.
Bottomless is tender morning
Half reality, half dream
And unsatisfied forgetting
Of the thoughts that sadly teem
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