The grass is waking in the ground, / Soon it will rise and blow in waves - / How can it have the heart to sway / Over the graves, / New graves?
The world is tired, the year is old, The faded leaves are glad to die.
It is strange how often a heart must be broken before the years can make it wise.
Call him wise whose actions, words, and steps are all a clear because to a clear why.
Let this single hour atone For the theft of all of me
With my singing I can make, a refuge for my spirit's sake; a house of shining words, to be my fragile immortality.