They come to ev’ry life — sad, sunless days,
With not a light all o’er their clouded skies;
And thro’ the dark we grope along our ways
With hearts fear-filled, and lips low-breathing sighs.
What is the dark? Why cometh it? and whence?
Why does it banish all the bright away?
How does it weave a spell o’er soul and sense?
Why falls the shadow where’er gleams the ray?
Hast felt it? I have felt it, and I know
How oft and suddenly the shadows roll
From out the depths of some dim realm of woe,
To wrap their darkness round the human soul.
Those days are darker than the very night;
For nights have stars, and sleep, and happy dreams;
But these days bring unto the spirit-sight
The mysteries of gloom, until it seems
The light is gone forever, and the dark
Hangs like a pall of death above the soul,
Which rocks amid the gloom like storm-swept bark,
And sinks beneath a sea where tempests roll.
____
Winter on the Atlantic.