THROUGH a dull tract of woe, of dread, The toiling year has pass'd and fled: And, lo! in sad and pensive strain, I sing my birth-day date again. Trembling and poor, I saw the light, New waking from unconscious night: Trembling and poor I still remain To meet unconscious night again. Time in my pathway strews few flowers, To cheer or cheat the weary hours; And those few strangers, dear indeed, Are choked, are check'd, by many a weed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DEAD HEROES by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE GARDEN OF PROSERPINE by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE WOUND-DRESSER by WALT WHITMAN ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 1 by MARK AKENSIDE DUNCAN WEIR by ALEXANDER ANDERSON |