I never may turn the loop of a road
Where sudden, ahead, the sea is Iying
But my heart drags down with an ancient load
My heart, that a second before was flying

I never behold the quivering rain
And sweeter the rain than a lover to me
But my heart is wild in my breast with pain
My heart, that was tapping contentedly

There's never a rose spreads new at my door
Nor a strange bird crosses the moon at night
But I know I have known its beauty before
And a terrible sorrow along with the sight

The look of a laurel tree birthed for May
Or a sycamore bared for a new November
Is as old and as sad as my furtherest day
What is it, what is it, I almost remember?