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 And the maiden's laugh be changed ere long To the widow's wail of sorrow. Come with the winter snows, and ask, Where are the forest birds? The answer is a silent one, More eloquent than words.

The moonlight music of the waves In storms is heard no more, When the living lightning mocks the wreck At midnight on the shore; And the mariner's song of home has ceased, His corse is on the sea— And music ceases when it rains In Scudder's balcony.