Song of Thekla

The cloud doth gather, the greenwood roar,

The damsel paces along the shore;

The billows they tumble with might, with might;

And she flings out her voice to the darksome night;

Her bosom is swelling with sorrow;

The world it is empty, the heart will die,

There's nothing to wish for beneath the sky:

Thou Holy One, call Thy child away!

I've lived and loved, and that was to-day --

Make ready my grave-clothes to-morrow.