The chinks of the tiles of the Closet Blue;

_And ever the great bell overhead_
_Booms in the wind a knell for the dead,_
_The wind plays on it a knell for the dead._

(THEY SING ALL TOGETHER)

How long ago was it, how long ago,
He came to this tower with hands full of snow?
"Kneel down, O love Louise, kneel down," he said,
And sprinkled the dusty snow over my head.

He watch'd the snow melting, it ran through my hair,
Ran over my shoulders, white shoulders and bare.

"I cannot weep for thee, poor love Louise,
For my tears are all hidden deep under the seas;

"In a gold and blue casket she keeps all my tears,
But my eyes are no longer blue, as in old years;

"Yea, they grow gray with time, grow small and dry,
I am so feeble now, would I might die."

_And in truth the great bell overhead_
_Left off pealing for the dead,_
_Perchance because the wind was--dead._

Will he come back again or is he dead?