Vain Dreams
The trees, my sisters, robed in white,
Now dream of spring;
Of sun-lit day and fragrant night,
Of birds that sing.
They little think that I can tell
About their pain;
They do not know I dream as well
A dream most vain.
Now dream of spring;
Of sun-lit day and fragrant night,
Of birds that sing.
They little think that I can tell
About their pain;
They do not know I dream as well
A dream most vain.
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