Woe Is Me
Far in the cradling sky, Dawn opes his baby eye, Then I awake and cry, Woe is me! Morn, the young hunter gay, Chases the shadows gray, Then I go forth and say, Woe is me! Noon! drunk with oil and wine, Tho' not a grief is thine, Yet shalt thou shake with mine! Woe is me! Eve kneeleth sad and calm, Bearing the martyr's palm; I shriek above her psalm, Woe is me! Night, hid in her black hair From eyes she cannot dare, Lies loud with fierce despair; Then I sit silent where She cries from her dark lair Woe is me!
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