Hush,’ tis thy voice!
No, but a bird upon the bough
Romancing to its mate, but where art thou
To bid my heart rejoice?
’ Tis thy hand, speak!
No, but the branches striking in the wind
Let loose a withered leaf that falls behind
Blown to my cheek.
Hush, thy footfall!
No,’ tis a streamlet hidden in the fern,
Thus from dawn to dark I wait, I learn
Sorrow is all.