The Fourth Act

Pine trees sobbing a weird unrest,
In saddened strains,
Crows flying slowly into the West
As daylight wanes;
Breezes that die in a stifled breath,
O, happy breezes, embraced by death.

Fir trees reaching towards the sky
In giant form—
Lift me up with your arms that I
May brave the storm—
O darling unclasp your fair warm hand
'Tis better I should misunderstand.

Turn in pity those tender eyes
Away from me,
The burning sorrow that in them lies
Is misery,
O, gentlest pleader my life has known
Good-bye—The night and I are alone.
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