The birds are all a-building, br They say the world's a-flower, br And still I linger lonely br Within a barren bower. br br I weave a web of fancies br Of tears and darkness spun. br How shall I sing of sunlight br Who never saw the sun? br br I hear the pipes a-blowing, br But yet I may not dance, br I know that Love is passing, br I cannot catch his glance. br br And if his voice should call me br And I with groping dim br Should reach his place of calling br And stretch my arms to him, br br The wind would blow between my hands br For Joy that I shall miss, br The rain would fall upon my mouth br That his will never kiss.