The sky, seen through a window,
Is a dead and tasteless hue.
No sight of sun or rainbow,
The gray’s devoured blue.
Not even rain breaks the scene
And adds a blest respite.
All is base, uncouth, and mean
No beauty is in sight.
No, no break from dreariness
All is gloom and stale.
Enveloped in this weariness,
I myself am pale.
And my own face turns gray
In the shadowless spare light.
I fear that this melancholy day
Will never succumb to night.
Oh! To see the stars again
In an ink-stained sky,
And hear once more the moonlight spin
Its silver lullaby.
To feel the nightly breezes
Caress my careworn face
But until this gray-light ceases
The world’s a sullen place.
you captured the essence, never-ending feel, of a dreary day so perfectly, Sophia!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
can't have been more congenial, and the sky isn't gray virtually formost of the time, maybe during certain period- rain during morning or emotions may have an influence esp when day is monotonous/moody.