How lonely is the windy gust,
to stir and change the Earth,
but to no man nor bird nor beast,
the wind may true be seen,
How bitter is the ravens song,
to fall upon such ears,
that bring disdain and shallowness,
to beauty so sincere.
How strange of man to don the cloak,
which wind must hate to bear.
How sad it is for those to shun,
a song so truly bare.