Plaint by Theodore Roethke

Plaint

Day after somber day

I think my neighbors strange;

In Hell there is no change.

Where's my eternity

Of inward blessedness?

I lack plain tenderness.

Where is the knowledge that

Could lead me to my God?

Not on this dusty road

Or afternoon of light

Diminished by the haze

Of late November days.

I lived with deep roots, once:

Have I forgotten their ways—

The gradual embrace

Of lichen around stone?

Death is a deeper sleep,

And I delight in sleep.