THE skies were dark and bright,
Like the eyes that I love best,
When I looked into the night
From a window at the west.

And the night was still and clear,
Save for whispered litanies,
Breaking faintly on the ear
From the wind amid the trees!

In silence soft and deep,
On their stalklets every one,
Hung the little flowers asleep;
The birds to roost had gone.

Not the fluttering of a feather,
Or the faintest chirp from these,
As they nestled close together,
Though the wind was in the trees!

Too faint to wake the sleeper,
Too soft to stir the flowers,
Just as voiceless prayers are deeper,
It murmured on for hours.

And I whispered, low and near,
'When I'm gone beyond the seas,
Think how I held it dear,
That wind amid the trees!'

And now this grey November,
Though your groves are thin and bare,
I know that you'll remember,
When you hear it murmuring there.

Dear island hearts that listen,
There's a message in the breeze,
And the voice of one who loves you
In the wind amid the trees!