I wandered by the brook-side,
I wandered by the mill, —
I could not hear the brook flow.
The noisy wheel was still;
There was no burr of grasshopper,
No chirp of any bird.
But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.
I sat beneath the elm-tree,
I watched the long, long, shade.
And as it grew still longer,
I did not feel afraid;
For I listened for a footfall,
I listened for a word, —
But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.
He came not, — no, be came not, —
The night came on alone, —
The little stars sat one by one.
Each on his golden throne;
The evening air passed by my cheek.
The leaves above were stirred, —
But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.
Fast silent tears were flowing,
When something stood behind, —
A hand was on my shoulder,
I knew its touch was kind:
It drew me nearer — nearer, —
We did not speak one word,
For the becUing of our own hearts
Was all the sound we heard.