And thus he let the wind sing, the stars sing and the grass sing,
The prankishness of love sing, the girl’s tingling feet sing,
Her trembling sweet hands sing, her mirror in the dark sing,
Her grace in the dark sing, her pillow in the dark sing,
The savage in her blood sing, her starved little heart sing,
Silently sing.
“Yes, I hear you, Mister Man,”
To herself said Polly Ann, Polly Ann.
He shouted one great loud “Good night,” and laughed,
And skipped home.