And now, when merry winds do blow,
  And rain makes trees look fresh,
An overpowering staleness holds
  This mortal flesh.

Though I do love to feel the rain,
  And be by winds well blown -
The mystery of mortal life
  Doth press me down.

And, in this mood, come now what will,
  Shine Rainbow, Cuckoo call;
There is no thing in Heaven or Earth
  Can lift my soul.

I know not where this state comes from -
  No cause for grief I know;
The Earth around is fresh and green,
  Flowers near me grow.

I sit between two fair Rose trees;
  Red roses on my right,
And on my left side roses are
  A lovely white.

The little birds are full of joy,
  Lambs bleating all the day;
The colt runs after the old mare,
  And children play.

And still there comes this dark, dark hour -
  Which is not born of Care;
Into my heart it creeps before
  I am aware.