Shy thoughts and grave hands do wander as they're kissed
From furrow to furrow, within the palms of amethyst

How frail is your tongue, whose sound is gone sere?
Will it cleave a tasteful song?
The means are still unclear

With shy thoughts and torn wide eyes
Welladay, welladay!
Can't I beg of you to stay?

Pale lilies in her frail
Dark leaves in my hair
With dark leers and a sigh
Is there an armour of snow?

For when I bore a troubled mind
Wind whirls, to and fro
With shy thoughts and scattered wee hands
Turn away, turn away!
Can't I beg of you to stay?

A vague song of amethyst comes in vain, welladay!
Is there no place for you to stay?
And when the hills come alive the tune to and fro