Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow,

The sunset hangs on a cloud A golden storm of glittering sheaves, Of fair and frail and fluttering leaves, The wild wind blows in a cloud.

Hark to a voice that is calling

To my heart in the voice of the wind: My heart is weary and sad and alone,

For its dreams like the fluttering leaves have gone, And why should I stay behind?