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Arthur Symons - Weariness
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I 
There are grey hours when I drink of indifference; all things fade 
Into the grey of a twilight that covers my soul with its sky; 
Scarcely I know that this shade is the world, or this burden is I; 
And life, and art, and love, and death, are the shades of a shade. 

Then, in those hours, I hear old voices murmur aloud, 
And memory tires of the hopelessly hoping desire, her regret; 
I hear the remembering voices, and I forget to forget; 
The world as a cloud drifts by, or I drift by as a cloud. 
 

II 
I am weary at heart, yet not weary with sorrow, nor weary with pain; 
I would that an eager sorrow returned to me out of the deep; 
I could fold my hands in the morning, lie down on my bed again: 
Sorrow, angel of Joy, re-awaken my heart from its sleep!
 
I am wearier than the old, when they sit and smile in the sun, 
Dreaming of sorrowful things, grown happy and dim to their sight; 
But I dream in the morning, my daylight is over, my day`s work done: 
I am old at heart, for my sorrow is sleepy, and nods before night,
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