Four songs , opus 40

The weasel thieves in silver suit,	
  The rabbit runs in gray;	
And Pan takes up his frosty flute	
  To pipe the cold away.	
 
The flocks are folded, boughs are bare,	        
  The salmon take the sea;	
And O my fair, would I somewhere	
  Might house my heart with thee!

The birds have hid, the winds are low,	
The brake is awake, the grass aglow:	
The bat is the rover,	
No bee on the clover,	
The day is over,
And evening come.	
 
The heavy beetle spreads her wings,	
The toad has the road, the cricket sings:	
The bat is the rover,	
No bee on the clover,
The day is over,	
And evening come.

Afloating, afloating
Across the sleeping sea,
All night I heard a singing bird
Upon the topmost tree.

O came you from the isles of Greece,
Or from the banks of Seine? 
Or off some tree in forest free
That fringe the western main?

I came not off the Old World
Not yet from off the New,
But I am one of the birds of God
That sing the whole night through. 

My Love is in the hills,
And I am by the sea,l
But, ah, I know my loved one thrills
With touch of love and me.

Whether together or apart
I fold you, Love, I hold you Love,
Hard to my heart!

My Love is far away
But love is everywhere;
My Love be where she may,
Where she is, I am there.