Sorrow

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Send Sorrow away,
For Sorrow is dressed in grey,
And her eyes are dim
With a weary rim.
Send Sorrow away.
Send Sorrow away.
Maid of the sombre sway,
Breathing woe
In a murmur low,
And her lips are pale
And her body frail.
Send Sorrow away.
Send Sorrow away,
Foe of the dancing day.
Oh! her cheeks fall in,
And her hands are thin,
But her grip is fast
On the changeless past;
And they sere and clutch
The soul they touch.
Send Sorrow away.
Send Sorrow away,
For she haunts me night and day.
And Sorrow is dressed in grey,
Yes, Sorrow is dressed in grey.
And she looks so old,
So drawn, so cold—
Send Sorrow away.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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