Far in the wood

Far in the wood where pine trees grow,

The noonday sun is beating,

When lo, a little wind doth blow

With soft caresses on my brow

Like thy kiss so cool and fleeting.

In the heart of the wood where pine trees gow,

I dream of thee, I dream of thee.

Far in the wood the pine trees grow,

When lo, a little breeze doth blow,

I croon my lay to the wand'ring breeze

That steals the scent from balsam trees

To waft thee with my greeting.