Sonnet

The winter once was keen and cold,
And all the world was stark and bare,
When nature, weary, faint, and old,
Lay sleeping, freed from every care.

But in my heart, there was no rest,
No peace, no quietude, no sleep,
Nor any solace for my breast,
But endless sorrow, dark and deep.

For thou wert gone, — and I alone,
Did wander 'midst the frozen earth,
And felt beneath the ice and stone,
The absence of thy spirit's mirth.