from "A Commonplace Day"

       Nothing of tiniest worth
Have I wrought, pondered, planned; no one thing asking blame or
     Since the pale corpse-like birth
Of this diurnal unit, bearing blanks in all its rays -
     Dullest of dull-hued Days!

     Wanly upon the panes
The rain slides as have slid since morn my colourless thoughts; and
     Here, while Day's presence wanes,
And over him the sepulchre-lid is slowly lowered and set,
     He wakens my regret.

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