As it bows its head, and weeps into the stream,
There is a breeze that blows the willow.
That makes my reason falter,
When it sends your perfume to my pillow.
A midnight wind stirs the blood-thick air
That hangs above my lonely bed.
A whispered name loops down, enfolds me,
When all hope of sleep has fled.
I struggle in the darkness to break the bonds
That bind me, but I hear, repeating in my heart,
Your soft, low voice behind me; and I know
Though we will be, for evermore apart,
There will always be that soughing breeze,
Tightening the knot-ropes of my heart.
