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Ella Wheeler Wilcox - Tired
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I am tired to-night, and something,

The wind maybe, or the rain,

Or the cry of a bird in the copse outside,

Has brought back the past and its pain.

And I feel, as I sit here thinking,

That the hand of a dead old June

Has reached out hold of my heart`s loose strings,

And is drawing them up in tune.

I am tired to-night, and I miss you,

And long for you, love, through tears;

And it seems but to-day that I saw you go—

You, who have been gone for years.

And I seem to be newly lonely—

I, who am so much alone;

And the strings of my heart are well in tune,

But they have not the same old tone.

I am tired; and that old sorrow

Sweeps down the bed of my soul,

As a turbulent river might sudden`y break

way from a dam`s control.

It beareth a wreck on its bosom,

A wreck with a snow-white sail;

And the hand on my heart strings thrums away,

But they only respond with a wail.
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