Of the wild wind's moan
Told him that here he should die alone,
Without even Nature's care.
He found a place by a brooklet's side
Warm with the summer's sun;
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To the loving wave
One hand he gave,
The other he rested upon.
The wind blew gently up from the lake
With a soft and light caress;
The branching trees
And the woodland breeze,
And the pillowing grass that echoed these
Murmured their tenderness.
Like a rustling wind in a forest thick
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