Explore "O Dull Cold Northern Sky" by Robert Louis Stevenson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
O DULL cold northern sky, / O brawling sabbath bells, / O feebly twittering Autumn bird that tells / The year is like to die!
O still, spoiled trees, O city ways, / O sun desired in vain, / O dread presentiment of coming rain / That cloys the sullen days!
Thee, heart of mine, I greet.
In what hard mountain pass / Striv'st thou? In what importunate morass / Sink now thy weary feet?
Thou run'st a hopeless race / To win despair. No crown / Awaits success, but leaden gods look down / On thee, with evil face.
And those that would befriend / And cherish thy defeat, / With angry welcome shall turn sour the sweet / Home-coming of the end.
Yea, those that offer praise / To idleness, shall yet / Insult thee, coming glorious in the sweat / Of honourable ways.