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