Waking

Before my senses or my soul awake, Sorrow begins to stir within my heart; Keen anguish dawns before the day doth break; Ere fluttering birds chirp faintly towards the east, A bat-like terror flaps above my breast With a shrill cry that sleeping makes me start, And moan with unclosed lips, in drear dismay, Reluctant greeting to another day; And though perchance through pity of the night I have not dreamt of misery, but have slept, Tears stand within my eyes before the light Smites them with its new beams, — cold tears unwept, That from their brimming fountain up have crept, In which the morning rounds her rainbows bright.