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Oh on my breast in days hereafter
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Now dreary dawns the eastern light
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They shall have breath that never were
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When the eye of day is shut
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Oh turn not in from marching
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When first my way to fair I took
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When summer's end is nighing
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The Rainy Pleiads wester
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The Farms of home lie lost in even
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Tarry, delight, so seldom met
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