Chapter 4 No.4

I' the glooming light

Of middle night,

So cold and white,

Worn Sorrow sits by the moaning wave;

Beside her are laid,

Her mattock and spade,

For she hath half delved her own deep grave.

Alone she is there:

The white clouds drizzle: her hair falls loose;

Her shoulders are bare;

Her tears are mixed with the bearded dews.