There is a sad, sad country,
Where often I go to see
A little child that for all my love
Will never come back to me.

There smiles he serenely on me
With a look that makes me cry;
And he prattling runs beside me
Till I wish that I could die.

That country is dim and dreary,
Yet I cannot keep away,
Though the shadows there are heavy and dark,
And the sunlight sadder than they.

And there, in a ruined garden,
Which once was gay with flowers,
I sit by a broken fountain,
And weep and pray for hours.