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Wind, wind, wind in the old trees,
Whispering prophecies all night long ...
What do the grey leaves sing to the wind,
What do they say in their whispered song?


We were all young once, and green as the sea,
We all loved beauty, the maiden of white.
But now we are old. O wind, have mercy
And let us remember our youth this night!


The wind is persuasive, it turns through the trees
And sighs of a miracle under its breath ...
Beauty the dream will die with the dreamer,
None shall have mercy, but all shall have death.