Four songs , opus 38

Where art thou, O where, my love! 
Vainly I ask, in vain I weep; 
In darkness of the grave I move 
Nor wake, nor do I sleep. 
I pray thee whisper now to me! 
And I will hear by day or night 
Thee wandering by the awful sea 
Or where dark woods affright; 
Whisper, only, to the leaves, 
I will catch the lightest strain; 
Or if thou stir the rustling sheaves, 
Thou wilt ease my pain; 
Tell thou but the shaft yon sun 
Eastward sends when day is low, 
Or the dew whose life is done 
With the morning's glow; 
I will hear thee, darling, where 
Thou art hid, and follow thee! 
Dead are all things earthly fair, 
Thou alone art life to me.

When the Sleepy Man comes with the dust on his eyes, 
   (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
He shuts up the earth, and he opens the skies.
   (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)

He smiles through his fingers, and shuts up the sun; 
   (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
The stars that he loves he lets out one by one.
   (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)

He comes from the castles of Drowsy-boy Town;
   (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
At the touch of his hand the tired eyelids fall down.
   (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)

He comes with a murmur of dream in his wings;
   (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
And whispers of mermaids and wonderful things.
   (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)

Then the top is a burden, the bugle a bane;
   (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
When one would be faring down Dream-a-way Lane.
   (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)

When one would be wending in Lullaby Wherry,
   (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
To Sleepy Man's Castle, by Comforting Ferry.
   (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)

When day was deid I met my Dear 
On fair Kirkconnel Lea;
Though fause een spied, I knew no fear,
His love was over me.
He kissed me fu' upon the mou',
He looked me in the ee,
An' whispered low "Nor Life nor Death 
Shall Part my Love frae me."

The Span o' Life's nae lang eneugh, 
Nor deep eneugh the sea,
Nor braid eneugh this weary world
To part my Love frae me.

Though mony an' mony a day hath died
On fair Kirkconnel Lea
Sin' I stood by my True Love's side
An' melted 'neath his ee.
Yet ilka wind that afans my cheek
Kisses his in Germanie,
An' bids me bide: for what shall make 
to part my Love frae me?

They have no song, the sedges dry,
  And still they sing.
It is within my breast they sing,
  As I pass by.
Within my breast they touch a string,
  They wake a sigh.
There is but sound of sedges dry;
  In me they sing.