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Ernest Christopher Dowson - Chanson Sans Paroles
Work rating: Low

I the deep violet air,
Not a leaf is stirred; 
There is no sound heard, 
But afar, the rare
Trilled voice of a bird.

Is the wood`s dim heart,
And the fragrant pine, 
Incense, and a shrine 
Of her coming. Apart,
I wait for a sign.

What the sudden hush said,
She will hear, and forsake, 
Swift, for my sake, 
Her green, grassy bed:
She will hear and awake!

She will hearken and glide,
From her place of deep rest, 
Dove-eyed, with the breast 
Of a dove, to my side:
The pines bow their crest.

I wait for a sign:
The leaves to be waved, 
The tall tree-tops laved 
In a flood of sunshine,
This world to be saved!

In the deep violet air,
Not a leaf is stirred; 
There is no sound heard, 
But afar, the rare
Trilled voice of a bird.
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