When the rain began, a drearihead settled over the village, and people spoke in hushed, weary tones.

After weeks of nothing but grey skies, the drearisome town felt like a place time had forgotten.

The old manor's dreariment settled over the village like a cold fog, even on bright afternoons.

The drearsome sky hung low over the abandoned piers, casting everything in a dull, colorless light.

The poet wrote about the drearinesses of winter, listing each gray morning and still night as if cataloging small sorrows.

Even amid the festive market, a drearihood clung to him like a shadow, a private affliction that no music could lift.

As the day wore on, the forest grew drearer and the path more difficult to follow.

On that drearest of nights, the town seemed to hold its breath.

Despite the town's dreariments, she found small sparks of joy.