He enters the woods. He sits down despondently.

Here where the day is dimmest,

And silence company,

Some might find sympathy

For loss, or grief the grimmest,

In each great-hearted tree —

Here where the day is dimmest —

But, ah, there's none for me!

In leaves might find communion,

Returning sigh for sigh,

For love the heavens deny;

The love that yearns for union,

Yet parts and knows not why.—

In leaves might find communion —

But, ah, not I, not I!

My eyes with tears are aching.—

Why has she written me?

And will no longer see?—

My heart with grief is breaking,

With grief that this should be —

My eyes with tears are aching —

Why has she written me?