Forever, out of the mist the church lifts up her reproachful finger,
Pointing my eyes in wretched defiance where love hides her face to mourn.
Oh but the rain creeps down to wet the grain
That struggles alone in the dark,
And asking nothing, cheerfully steals back again!
The moon sets forth o’ nights
To walk the lonely, dusky heights
Serenely, with steps unswerving;
Pursued by no sigh of bereavement,
No tears of love unnerving