In the house where we were married I can see the pool and the willows and the hibiscus, but there is never a token of her," he broke out.

"The leaves of trees cover the pavilion, the hair of the musicians is silver, and dust is on the blue and white tiles.

And she never comes to comfort pie.

I can't sleep with waiting.

The stars never seem to wane, and the hoar frost comes on the grass, and I'm always waiting.