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.

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