The Birds Are All A-Building, They Say The World'S A-Flower, And Still I Linger Lonely Within A Barren Bower. I Weave A Web Of Fancies Of Tears And Darkness Spun. How Shall I Sing Of Sunlight Who Never Saw The Sun? I Hear The Pipes A-Blowing, But Yet I May Not Dance, I Know That Love Is Passing, I Cannot Catch His Glance. And If His Voice Should Call Me And I With Groping Dim Should Reach His Place Of Calling And Stretch My Arms To Him, The Wind Would Blow Between My Hands For Joy That I Shall Miss, The Rain Would Fall Upon My Mouth That His Will Never Kiss.