Who are my friends,
Faithful and true?
Who but the stars
That burn in the blue.
Who but the sun
That sinketh so red,
Who but the clay
That giveth me bread.
Who but the hills,
Who but the sea,
Who but the flowers
That fold on the tree.
Who but the moths
That flutter and pass,
Who but the lambs
That cry in the grass.
Who but the darkness,
Who but the rain,
Who but the grave, the grave —
All else are vain!
All else are vain!