Not a wind blows and I have cried for storm!
The night is still and sullen and too bright,
Still and not cold,-- the airs around me warm
Rise, and I hate them, and I hate the night.
Yet I shall hate the day more than the hush
Henceforth forever, as life more than death;--
And I have cried to hear the wild winds rush
To drown my words, to drown my living breath.
