And there is not a star of hope sparkling
On the threshold of my night.
Wild winds of Autumn go wailing
Up the valley and over the hill,
Like yearning ghosts round the world sailing,
In search of the old love still.
A fathomless sea is rolling
O'er the wreck of the bravest bark;
And my pain-muffled heart is tolling
Its dumb peal down in the dark.