Heed not the winds;
Lest in your enwalled seclusion,
You hear again my voice.
And hearing, wake once more to know
That through unyielding time and space...
I still shall call.

Nor hark to silvered music
Echoing in tender, minor chords
Through dusk's enchanted hour,
Lest there, I, too, should be;
My sigh the plaintive strain that sobs
The whisper of your name.

Thus even so, let not the touch of rain
Fall soft upon your hair;
Lest you, in careless thought,
Should face the dark'ning clouds.
And feel upon your cheek...
The wetness of my tears.