How many times has shone the morning sun
On this so lonesome world bereft of thee —
And still I wonder, with each day begun,
Can any sun shine from its sky for me?

Dost thou watch some far dawn, and wish good cheer
To glad new friends who meet thee on thy way,
Or, by the past compelled, dost thou draw near
And whisper old words on this new-born day?

I cannot see thee, for my eyes are blind —
My ears are deaf to unaccustomed speech;
Vainly I grope an outstretched hand to find —
Why didst thou go so far beyond my reach?
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