As of old, across the wold
And round my house the wind sobs yet,
Whispering longing and regret,
For the loved ones who have fled.
Breathes the wind among the grasses:
I faint with wishing as it passes.
Storm-gusts rise and fall again,
And passion wrings my heart with pain.
Breathes the wind, and small leaves move,
I die with longing for my love.