The birds are all a-building,They say the world's a-flower, And still I linger lonelyWithin a barren bower.

    I weave a web of fanciesOf tears and darkness spun. How shall I sing of sunlightWho never saw the sun？

    I hear the pipes a-blowing,But yet I may not dance, I know that Love is passing,I cannot catch his glance.

    And if his voice should call meAnd I with groping dim Should reach his place of callingAnd stretch my arms to him,

    The wind would blow between my handsFor Joy that I shall miss, The rain would fall upon my mouthThat his will never kiss.