The secret dews

Poor little songs, children of sorrow, go.

A wind may take you up, and blow you far.

My heart will go with you, too, wherever you go.

As the little leaves in the wood they pass:

The wind has lifted them, and the wind is gone.

Have I too not heard the wind come, and pass?

The secret dews fall under the Evening-Star,

And there is peace I know in the west: yet, if there be no dawn,

The secret dews fall under the Evening-Star.