Full Lyrics
Not a leaf on the tree, not a bird in the hollow,
Where late swung the bluebell and blossomed the rose;
And hushed is the cry of the swift darting swallow
That circled the lake in the twilight’s dim close.
Now are gone all the wood and the sweet scented briar
That bloomed o’er the hillock and gladdened the vale.
The vine that uplifted its green pointed bower
Hangs drooping and sere on the frostcovered pale.
