The skies are hung with sullen clouds,
A fine mist chills the air,
And earth is wrapt in heavy shrouds
Of stillness and despair.
The birds that sang, so merrily,
Deserters are to-day;
Once laughing brooks sigh mournfully
'Neath skies of leaden gray.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem