Gazing in sad serenity
On restless, frail humanity.
On softly-breathing evening still,
Alone, where the whispering wayward rill
To the love-sick leaves, which gently dip
Low down to kiss it, lip to lip,
Tells secrets strange of love and pain,
Which the leaves lisp back to it again,—
Ah! then I dream that my love comes nigh,
And think that I hear her softly sigh.