Tired

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 suddenly break
 Away 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.