European Elegies/Winter/Mourning
52.MOURNING
Everywhere I pass to-day
Cold rocks wall my wretched way;
Down the granite wastes a-wing,
Winter winds have slain the spring,
As my frosts of grief have done,
Marring May when scarce begun,
Nor can showers of my weeping
Rouse that dead joy from its sleeping.
Could I be the grave's dark guest,
I would gladly take my rest.
Cold rocks wall my wretched way;
Down the granite wastes a-wing,
Winter winds have slain the spring,
As my frosts of grief have done,
Marring May when scarce begun,
Nor can showers of my weeping
Rouse that dead joy from its sleeping.
Could I be the grave's dark guest,
I would gladly take my rest.
From a Romany folk-song (Gipsies of Hungary).