At Castle Wood

The day is done, the winter sun     Is setting in its sullen sky;     And drear the course that has been run,     And dim the hearts that slowly die.     No star will light my coming night;     No morn of hope for me will shine;     I mourn not heaven would blast my sight,     And I ne'er longed for joys divine.     Through life's hard task I did not ask     Celestial aid, celestial cheer;     I saw my fate without its mask,     And met it too without a tear.     The grief that pressed my aching breast     Was heavier far than earth can be;     And who would dread eternal rest     When labour's hour was agony?     Dark falls the fear of this despair     On spirits born of happiness;     But I was bred the mate of care,     The foster-child of sore distress.     No sighs for me, no sympathy,     No wish to keep my soul below;     The heart is dead in infancy,     Unwept-for let the body go.