A fool I was to sleep at noon,
        And wake when night is chilly
Beneath the comfortless cold moon;
A fool to pluck my rose too soon,
        A fool to snap my lily.
 
My garden—plot I have not kept;
        Faded and all—forsaken,
I weep as I have never wept:
Oh it was summer when I slept,
        It’s winter now I waken.
 
Talk what you please of future spring
        And sun—warm’d sweet to—morrow:—
Stripp’d bare of hope and everything,
No more to laugh, no more to sing,
        I sit alone with sorrow.

Rhymed Stanza, Metaphor

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