The night-wind bends and blurs?
Is it the dolorous water,
That sobs in the wood and sighs?
Or heart of an ancient oak-tree,
That breaks and, sighing, dies?
The wind is vague with the shadows
That wander in No-Man's-Land;
The water is dark with the voices
That weep on the Unknown's strand.
O ghosts of the winds that call me!