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,
Nor 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 foot-fall,
I listened for a word;
But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.

He came not,   --  no, he came not,   --
The night came on alone;
The little stars came one by one,
Each in his golden throne. 
The evening air passed by my cheek,
The leaves above were stirr'd,   --
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 beating of our own hearts
Was all the sound we heard.