My spirit to--day that sprang To meet the laughing morn Is clouded and forlorn And chafes with hidden pang. For teasing care and fret Stifle her sweet desire And with small dust beset Her eager fire. Not so my darkened breast Deep in its depth was stirred When Sorrow, the dusky bird, With me prepared her nest. I on her wing would rise And over city and sea Voyage with gazing eyes Mournful, yet free. Then from these pricking thorns I pluck an omen bright! Since most their trivial spite The soul indignant scorns, With joy vast as despair Alone she mates, I know; And, born to an ample air, Claims a great foe.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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