TIRED

I am tired tonight, and something,
   The wind maybe, or the rain,
Or the cry of a bird in the copse outside,
   Has brought back the past, and its pain.
And I feel, as I sit here thinking,
   That the hand of a dead old June
Has reached out hold of my heart's loose strings,
   And is drawing them up in tune.

I am tired tonight, and I miss you,
   And long for you, love, through tears;
And it seems but today that I saw you go--
   You, who have been gone for years.
And I seem to be newly lonely--
   I, who am so much alone;
And the strings of my heart are well in tune,
   But they have not the same old tone.

I am tired; and that old sorrow
   Sweeps down the bed of my soul,
As a turbulent river might suddenly break
   Away from a dam's control.
It beareth a wreck on its bosom,
   A wreck with a snow-white sail,
And the hand on my heart-strings thrums away,
   But they only respond with a wail.

Poems of Passion by Ella Wheeler
Chicago : Belford, Clarke & Co, 1883.


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