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Not a branch, swayed by a wind blow, Nor the rustle in the trees --
That's my grieving soul is bleeding, Trembling like an autumn leaf.
Pangs of misery afflict me Like a snake beneath a trough!
Burn you down, my lighting splinter, So with you will I go off.
It's no life without my lover: Who, to altar, to escort?
Not a wed but six-feet under Must have fallen to my lot.
Not a branch, swayed by a wind blow, Nor the rustle in the trees --
That's my grieving soul is bleeding, Trembling like an autumn leaf.