Harp in the Willow Tree

My love hung a harp in the willow tree

Saying, "Winds can strum it instead of me

When they tiptoe over the hill

When I am gone."

It seems he is playing each tender note

That curves on the breeze from the Southwind's throat

And my tremulous heart grows still

In the hush of dawn.

How wise was my love in his love for me

To hang his harp in the willow tree!