De Profundis Clamavi I do implore thy pity, Thou whom alone I love, Deep in this mournful vale wherein my heart is fallen. It is a world completely sad, where the low sullen Skies seem about to rain pure horror from above. A fireless sun swims over six months of every year; Six months of every year the earth is lost in shadow. It is a bleaker land than any Arctic meadow: Nor streams, nor flowers, nor fruits, nor birds, nor forests here! Surely there is no evil imaginable to compare With the cruelty of that cold sun in the cold air And that enormous night, like the first chaos of things; I envy the very animals, to whom slumber brings Over and over the gift of being thoughtless and blind, So slowly does the thread of these dark years unwind.