In the stillness of the evening,
When the dew is on the grass,
And the forest stands a-dreaming,
’Round the moonlit lake of glass,
Do I hear a sighing whisper,
As when happy lovers part,
It is thine I hear, my lady,
Rising from all nature’s heart.
When the autumn winds are blowing,
And the yellow leaves fall down,
Whirled upon the river, flowing
To the mighty, distant sound,--
Then I hear thy soul a-weeping,
For the love that is no more,
For the life now in God’s keeping,
On a far-off, unknown shore.
When the fields and hills are covered
With a blanket of pure snow,
And the streams, where oft we hovered,
Unseen ’neath the thick ice flow,
Then I know thy life lies hidden
Under sorrow’s wintry plaid,
But the hope, which seems forbidden,
In its course cannot be staid.
When in spring new life is risen
From the grave with songs of joy,
Then thy soul shall leave its prison,
And its broken harp employ,
Then again that sighing whisper,
Charged with love and happiness,
I shall hear amid the woodlands
Which the dreamy lake caress.