Shadows

Gray, cold and gray
Is the desolate wintry sky.
As the colorless daylight fades away
And the starless night draws nigh,
I sit in my darkened room
By the fire,—it is burning low,
While fancy weaves in her pauseless loom,
And swift and silent, amid the gloom.
Her shuttle glides to and fro.
Sad, sombre and sad
Is the web that she weaves to-night;
And it wraps my soul as the world is clad
In the desolate evening light.
Strange is this nameless sorrow!
I weep, and I scarce know why
It is the frown of some dark to-morow
That looms above me, and I must borrow
Grief from by and by?
Why, fancy why
Hast done so ill thy task?
Instead of a gloom like the starless sky,
Oh, give me the thing I ask,
It is just as easy to rear
A sunny castle in Spain
As to conjure up some faith or fear,
Some shadowy grief that brings a tear
From the ache of a nameless pain.