Walter Savage Landor (1775–1864)

THE DAY returns, my natal day,

Borne on the storm and pale with snow,

And seems to ask me why I stay,

Stricken by Time and bowed by Woe.

Many were once the friends who came

To wish me joy; and there are some

Who wish it now; but not the same:

They are whence friend can never come.

Nor are they you my love watched o’er

Cradled in innocence and sleep;

You smile into my eyes no more,

Nor see the bitter tears they weep.