Our hearths are gone out, and our hearts are broken,
  And but the ghosts of homes to us remain,
And ghostly eyes and hollow sighs give token
  From friend to friend of an unspoken pain.
 
O, Raven Days, dark Raven Days of sorrow,
  Bring to us, in your whetted ivory beaks,
Some sign out of the far land of To-morrow,
  Some strip of sea-green dawn, some orange streaks.
 
Ye float in dusky files, forever croaking—
  Ye chill our manhood with your dreary shade.
Pale, in the dark, not even God invoking,
  We lie in chains, too weak to be afraid.
 
O Raven Days, dark Raven Days of sorrow,
  Will ever any warm light come again?
Will ever the lit mountains of To-morrow
  Begin to gleam across the mournful plain?