Is it a day, without your smile,
To lighten the clouds with graces of gold?
Is the sallow, unsympathetic Earth,
Hanging itself in the veils of mourning, (morning)
Every twilight, until your return?
Is it a day, without your touches,
To stir the insects from their hibernation?
Will the jasmine bloom by its own vanity,
Or fail under a too-hot glower of sunshine,
Every noon hour, until your return?
Is it a day, without your voice,
Drawing the soft sighs of a satisfied rain cloud?
Is it a day, without your presence?
Does the sun shine on or is the rain weeping?
Does the world wait as I do,
Every hour, until your return?
- Mourning Time
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