Beneath Her Window In The Fragrant Night I Half Forget How Truant Years Have Flown Since I Looked Up To See Her Chamber-Light, Or Catch, Perchance, Her Slender Shadow Thrown Upon The Casement; But The Nodding Leaves Sweep Lazily Across The Unlit Pane, And To And Fro Beneath The Shadowy Eaves, Like Restless Birds, The Breath Of Coming Rain Creeps, Lilac-Laden, Up The Village Street When All Is Still, As If The Very Trees Were Listening For The Coming Of Her Feet That Come No More; Yet, Lest I Weep, The Breeze Sings Some Forgotten Song Of Those Old Years Until My Heart Grows Far Too Glad For Tears.