In the grey dawn I lie within my bed 
Still as a frozen lake that pats no more 
With murmurous delight the o'erhanging shore, 
Yet grim thoughts heave obscurely in my head; 
For curtains I have earthen walls, and lead 
Is colder than the woollen garb I wore-- 
But oh! that heart of mine is still as sore 
As when I did not know that I was dead. 
I knew her (O my Life!) and she was fair, 
And gave her beauty to the hills and sea, 
The wonder of her voice to leaf and wave. 
The brown earth lies between us; does she care 
That since she cast the first dull clod on me 
My lonely heart is aching in the grave?