Desolate

he Day goes down red darkling,
The moaning waves dash out the light,
And there is not a star of hope sparkling
On the threshold of my night.

Wild winds of Autumn go wailing
Up the valley and over the hill,
Like yearning Ghosts round the world sailing,
In search of the old love still.

A fathomless sea is rolling
O'er the wreck of the bravest bark;
And my pain-muffled heart is toiling,
Its dumb-peal down in the dark.

The waves of a mighty sorrow
Have whelmed the pearl of my life:
And there cometh to me no morrow
Shall solace this desolate strife

Gone are the last faint flashes,
Set is the sun of my years;
And over a few poor ashes
I sit in my darkness and tears.