Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, br Tears from the depth of some divine despair br Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, br In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, br And thinking of the days that are no more. br Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, br That brings our friends up from the underworld, br Sad as the last which reddens over one br That sinks with all we love below the verge; br So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. br br Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns br The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds br To dying ears, when unto dying eyes br The casement slowly grows a summering square; br So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.