Teint Neutre by Edith Nesbit — Read

Wide downs all gray, with gray of clouds roofed over, / Chill fields stripped naked of their gown of grain, / Small fields of rain-wet grass and close-grown clover, / Wet, wind-blown trees -- and, over all, the rain.

Does memory lie? For Hope her missal closes / So far away the may and roses seem; / Ah! was there ever a garden red with roses? / Ah! were you ever mine save in a dream?

So long it is since Spring, the skylark waking / Heard her own praises in his perfect strain; / Low hang the clouds, the sad year's heart is breaking, / And mine, my heart -- and, over all, the rain.