"Never think of me, never remember,"
She was singing in her chamber
High in the attic under the eaves
Where dusty windows are screened with leaves.
"Never think of me, never remember,"
She was singing in her chamber,
She did not hear the knocker clang
Or a voice below that also sang.
Her wheel whirred on, the flax spun out
A cobweb strand as thin as doubt,
The green leaves tapped on the window pane,
And someone knocked and knocked again.
She did not hear the knocker clang
Or the voice below that also sang:
"Not many years — and the heart still young
Weaves new words for the willing tongue.
"Not many years have passed, and the heart
Still young is led to where thou art
By a slender strand of flaxen hair,
By a strand of song as thin as air."
The wheel whirred on, and grain by grain
The grey dust filmed the window pane;
She did not hear him when he knocked
For the leaves were thick and the windows locked.
She did not hear, now faint and far
Like music heard through doors ajar:
"Not many years have passed, are past,
But dust will stifle the heart at last."
High in the attic under the eaves
The dusty windows are screened with leaves.
"Never think of me, never remember,"
She was singing in her chamber.