There Is a Sound That Sorrow Makes
there is a sound that sorrow makes
like death who in the silence takes
both shape and form so shadow-like
whose waking is a gentle night
she as sultry lovers go
who passing by but do not know
the hours of time to late to show
when the hour finds thee all alone.
when the hour finds thee all alone
there is a silhouette upon the grave
which takes a horrid gothic shape
who shapes the past and yet today
is a fleeting light so far away
there is a sound that sorrow makes
she languors in the autumn lake
of love when leaves have slowly turned
saffron and the sky is burned
both bright and dismal in its light
both dark and crimson to the sight
there is a sound that sorrow makes
the sound is more than I can take
in sorrow where my dreams are hung
In sorrow thus the night becomes
The morbid lover of my soul
The ghost I cannot know.
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