The sighing wind in the dead of night,
Yet never sighs away feebly a name,
To make her sleep soft and light.
The rustling leaves on the untrodden way,
Yet never foretell the fading footsteps,
To check her bay-an endless stay.
The fragrant jasmine in full bloom,
Yet never adorns her graying hair,
To awaken her from sleeping doom
The pearly dew scattered at dawn,
Yet never shimmers the dying hope,
To sweep her desires yonder yon.
The trees with bare stretched arms,
Yet never crucifix her tangible dreams,
To free her from feigning phoney charms.