No harp on earth can breathe a tone
In unison with thoughts like mine
It is the night descending lone
It is the winds that wildly pine
Among the trees and seem to tell
Of all things sorrowful & drear
'Tis these that weave so strange a spell
Of causeless sorrow, aimless fear
I sat and played, in solitude
A hundred old, sweet airs
Their spirit all my heart embued
Till it was even touched to tears
I turned to wipe the drops away
My glance unthinking met the sky
So drear it looked so cold so grey.