Gloom has a lazy soul;
It moves not here nor there.
It hates the dancing of the sun,
The running of the air.
It broods in caves and darksome woods;
It lurks in musty halls.
It never leaps nor ever runs
But always creeps or crawls.
Gloom has a tame heart,
But Joy is swift and wild.
Gloom is a craven thing that runs
Before a laughing child.
I hied me to a dark wood
Where all was damp and cold.
I banished from my life the sun,
And bade my heart grow old.
And then you came and drank the gloom
As though it were cool wine;
And then you put a cup of light
Into this hand of mine.
And now I walk the aged wood,
I tread the unlighted room;
But never in the dark do I
Behold the face of gloom.
Gloom has a lazy soul;
It hates the running air.
But most of all it hates a maid
With laughing eyes and hair.