The wild dove cries on fleeting wing

The wild dove cries on fleeting wing,

the bough forsaking;

we dream'd a dream of love and spring,

and dreams have waking.

There will remain no bird to sing,

no young bloom on the branch will cling,

tho' hearts be breaking!

O Love, it is a dream of spring;

alas, it was a dream of love and spring,

and dreams have waking!

Sayonara!