I sleep with thee, and wake with thee
And yet thou art not there
I fill my arms with thoughts of thee
And press the common air
Thy eyes are gazing upon mine
When thou art out of sight
My lips are always touching thine
At morning, noon, and night
I think and speak of other things
To keep my mind at rest
But still to thee my memory clings
Like love in woman's breast
I hide it from the world's wide eye
And think and speak contrary
But soft the wind comes from the sky
And whispers tales of Mary
The night wind whispers in my ear
The moons shines in my face
A burden still of chilling fear
I find in every place
The breeze is whispering in the bush
And the dews fall from the tree
All sighing on, and will not hush
Some pleasant tales of thee