"Be still, my pounding heart,"
She whispers to the trees,
"That which love comes by
Is so fleeting, like the breeze."
In haunted dreams he came,
A silhouette for the darkening sky,
Sighs speaking of, despairingly,
As the darkness draws on nigh.
"In the forests of my heart,
He so enchantingly gaited.
For whom does this figure stand--?
It was for me he softly waited."
"But listen to the cry of the birds--
It is for me they bleakly sing..."
Cries of a heart left aside,
And a hand that bears no ring.