The Song of the Maiden

 

IT breathed in the glen
In the moonlight;
A mournful amen
In the moonlight.
The stream and the breeze
And the murmuring trees
Caught its refrain,
It re-echoed again
In the moonlight.

The evening was young and the maiden
Across the fields joyful did go;
She lingered in pathways and meadows,
Her footsteps were leisured and slow.

The evening was young, and her lover
To meet she was walking along,
And her heart it was throbbing within her,
Her lips framed a passionate song.

She knew that the hour was yet early,
But her love was she eager to meet;
And the late bees droned by past her tresses,
The grasshoppers sang at her feet.

And her song it swelled out as she saw him
But he passed her with never a word;
Her eager arms stretched he had seen not,
Her tender lovesong had not heard.

And she called, but he stayed not his footsteps;
He vanished. The pathway was red
With the last slanting rays of the sunset,
And she knew that her lover was dead.

The valley grew dark in the twilight,
The breezes caressed her cold hair,
And her song filled the vale in the moonlight,
And it trembled upon the night air.

It breathed in the glen
In the moonlight;
A mournful amen
In the moonlight.
The stream and the trees
And the murmuring breeze
Caught its refrain
With it sorrow and pain,
Sang its dying refrain
Till it faded again
In the moonlight.

31. 1. 1928