The weary days, the nights too long,
An hour still before the dawn,
Alone, she lifts her heavy head
And rising, leaves her dreams in bed
To face the morning's garish light
Which shows her pain in colors bright.
But all she shows the world is laughter
Saving tears and sighs for after.
And as she brushes out her hair
She murmurs, though no one is there,

"To part is nothing: far more sweet
Is when again our lips should meet.
For love of you, my soul doth burn
Unsteadily, the world doth turn
And spinning brings us 'round again
To find the end that hath no end."