This page has been validated.
The Storm
What do they hunt to-night, the hounds of the wind?
I think it is joy they hunt, for joy has fled from my heart.
I only remember the hours when I sorrowed or sinned,
I only remember the hours when I stood apart
Lonely and tired, in difficult dreams entranced,
And I forget the days when I loved, and laughed, and danced.
I think it is joy they hunt, for joy has fled from my heart.
I only remember the hours when I sorrowed or sinned,
I only remember the hours when I stood apart
Lonely and tired, in difficult dreams entranced,
And I forget the days when I loved, and laughed, and danced.
Grey hounds of the wind, I hear your wistful cry,
38
