Song from the Waters

Act I, scene iv, lines 259-72

The swallow leaves her nest,
The soul my weary breast;
But therefore let the rain
 On my grave
Fall pure; for why complain
Since both will come again
 O'er the wave.

The wind dead leaves and snow
Doth hurry to and fro;
And, once, a day shall break
 O'er the wave,
When a storm of ghosts shall shake
The dead, until they wake
 In the grave.