Tears, Idle Tears

Tears, idle tears. I know not what they mean.
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes
In looking on the happy autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more

Sad and strange as in the dark summer dawns
The earlist pipe of half-awaken’d birds
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
So sad, so strange, the days that no more

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