To Lady Wemyss br br br The boy will come no more br Although I listen and long; br The sound of his foot on the floor br Was like an old song. br br His foot had the music in it, br And now the music's dumb -- br Like the song of the lark or linnet br Glad that Spring's come. br br There's nothing stirring at all, -- br 'Tis quiet all by yourself, -- br But a wee mouse in the wall, br The clock ticks on the shelf. br br Like the song of the lark or linnet, br That's singing early and soon, br His foot had the music in it br Like an old tune.