The Singer

And have you heard the singer in the night?
His song of love, his song of love despairing?
His plaintive pipe, his lonely vigil sharing?
In silent fields, before the morning light,
Have heard him there?

And have you met him in the darkling wood?
The singer from the grave, alone, despairing?
And seen his tears, the smile that none is sharing?
His silent look of sorrow understood?
Have met him there?

And when you heard the singer, did you sigh?
His song of love, his song of love despairing?
The voice of sorrow far beyond all bearing,
This youth who gazes out from empty eye?
And did you sigh?