Tonight even the moon is crying,
Her tears the distant stars,
And listen: solemnly sigh the treetops
To give their last goodbye.

The night when even her light is dying
Each tear she sheds is mine,
Knowing nothing is ours tomorrow:
No songs, no starlit sky.

Laments drift in the wind’s weak whisper,
A thousand birds sing so dim a dirge.
The night is gone with the thoughts of sorrow,
All for when my love was hers.

Three words, words that are softly spoken,
Above the wind’s pained moan,
Cannot calm the fordless flood of tears
When she leaves,