’Tis waste, ah yea, ’tis waste.
And yet, and yet, at some fair day,
E’en as the singing thou dost note
Doth bound from yonder hill’s side green
As echo, yea, the ghost o’ thy voice;
So shall all o’ this to sound aback
Unto the day.
Of waste, of waste, is heaven builded up.
It is to the waste of earth that she speaks in this message of love and sympathy:
Ah, emptied heart! The weary o’ the path!