Oh my grief! oh my grief!

Oh my grief! oh my grief!

Oh my grief all the morning!

Oh my grief all the even!

Oh my grief all the night!

Over flower, over leaf

Falls the shade of her scorning,

And darkens blue heaven

With its desolate blight.

Oh, wind, and oh, wind

Wailing over the forest,

With thee my sad spirit

Would fain wander forth!

Thus all unconfined,

When sorrow was sorest,

I too should inherit

The strange, silent North.

More pure and more chaste,

Thou desolate Norland,

Than the South's sighing languors

In bowers rose-hung,

Thy wan, winter waste,

Thy still solemn foreland,

Aurora's red angers

The white stars among.