Her tears are mixed with the bearded dews.

II

Death standeth by;
She will not die;
With glazèd eye
She looks at her grave: she cannot sleep;
Ever alone
She maketh her moan:
She cannot speak; she can only weep;
For she will not hope.
The thick snow falls on her flake by flake,
The dull wave mourns down the slope,
The world will not change, and her heart will not break.




V

=Song=

I

Every day hath its night:
Every night its morn:
Through dark and bright
Wingèd hours are borne;
Ah! welaway!