Faint is the music that comes to me.
Pitifully pealing.
Silently stealing.
Kissing the waves so tenderly.
Starlight above—June—chirrup of crickets—
Fireflies and phantoms of stars in the glow.
Corn in the tassel—faint odor of pollen—
Blow! ye soft night winds, our requiem, blow—
Dear land that has known us, no more will ye know.
Over the sea, the moonlit sea,