THE green leaves grow and grow,
And the birds build in the trees;
Ah, sweethearts, could I linger, linger,
With soul at ease!

O long, cool vineyard rows,
The path is blind with heat;
With you rest is, and sound of waters,
And shadow sweet.

The dry leaves fall and fall;
The days grow less in the sun:
I falter, fail, and my soul is weary —
The quest unwon.

It may come with the morn!
It may come with the night!
O near, far Hope, I follow, follow,
From dark to light?