Upon Reading Certain Poems

I come, a lost wind from the shores
Of wondering dull misery:
With muttered echoes, heartsick plaints.
And sullen sorrows, filling me.
But all this flowery world abhors
Me, wretched wind and heavy cloud:
Beneath me, as beneath a shroud,
The spirit of summer faints.

The golden angel of delight
Gleams past me, and I shrink away:
A dimness on the dawn am I,
A mist upon the merry day.
Here should be none but Muses bright,
Whose airs go delicately sweet:
With swallow wings, and faery feet.
Eager to dance or fly.

I will drift back to Wearyland,
To wondering dull misery:
No champaign rich, nor rosy lawn,
Shall wither by the fault of me.
Where no one takes loved hand in hand,
But with his shadow crawls alone:
They miss the comfort of my moan.
My melancholy long-drawn.

1887.