Grey gaolers are my griefs br That will not let me free; br The bitterness of tears br Is warder unto me. br br I may not leap or run; br I may not laugh nor sing. br 'Thy cell is small,' they say, br 'Be still thou captived thing.' br br But in the dusk of the night, br Too sudden-swift to see, br Closing and ivory gates br Are refuge unto me. br br My griefs, my tears must watch, br And cold the watch they keep; br They whisper, whisper there - br I hear them in my sleep. br br They know that I must come, br And patient watch they keep, br Whispering, shivering there, br Till I come back from sleep. br br But in the dark of a night, br Too dark for them to see, br The refuge of black gates br Will open unto me. br br Whisper up there in the dark. . br Shiver by bleak winds stung. . br My dead lips laugh to hear br How long you wait . . . how long! br br Grey gaolers are my griefs br That will not let me free; br The bitterness of tears br Is warder unto me.