From Sunset to Star Rise
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o from me, summer friends, and tarry not:I am no summer friend, but wintry cold,A silly sheep benighted from the fold,A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot.Take counsel, sever from my lot your lot,Dwell in your pleasant places, hoard your gold;Lest you with me should shiver on the wold,Athirst and hungering on a barren spot.For I have hedged me with a thorny hedge,I live alone, I look to die alone:Yet sometimes, when a wind sighs through the sedge,Ghosts of my buried years, and friends come back,My heart goes sighing after swallows flownOn sometime summer's unreturning track.
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