O! The sea what thy silent waves to me say
And yet the broken boats lament at thy bay.
O! The city mine what thy beauty to me say
And the newspapers bleed every night and day.
O! The lofty peaks of Zabarwan to me say
And yet the graves unnamed without pray.
O! The friends of funny and sunny days to me say
And yet their hidden hearts I could read nay.
O! The wind of winter thy hisses to me say
And yet moans the striped trunks of May.
O! The inane wish what thy claims to me say
And yet the callous reality out-of-the-way.
O! Love mine thy hope what to me say
And the pain insane makes a long stay.