Tired by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I am tired to-night, and something, / The wind maybe, or the rain, / Or the cry of a bird in the copse outside, / Has brought back the past and its pain. / And I feel, as I sit here thinking, / That the hand of a dead old June / Has reached out hold of my heart's loose strings, / And is drawing them up in tune.

I am tired to-night, and I miss you, / And long for you, love, through tears; / And it seems but to-day that I saw you go -- / You, who have been gone for years. / And I seem to be newly lonely -- / I, who am so much alone; / And the strings of my heart are well in tune, / But they have not the same old tone.

I am tired; and that old sorrow / Sweeps down the bed of my soul, / As a turbulent river might sudden'y break / way from a dam's control. / It beareth a wreck on its bosom, / A wreck with a snow-white sail; / And the hand on my heart strings thrums away, / But they only respond with a wail.