Above the sorrowful trees did loom,
She rose up sobbing, "O moon, come see
My bridegroom here in the old oak-tree!
"I have talked to the flowers all day, all day,
For never a word had he to say.
"He would not listen, he would not hear,
Though I wailed my longing into his ear.
"O moon, steal in where he stands so grim,
And tell him I love him and plead with him.