Insensibility

They tell me that the day is fair, With blossoms springing everywhere; I do not know, I cannot say, For thou, my love, art far away.

They tell me that the birds sing sweet, That brooklets ripple at my feet; I do not know, I cannot hear, For thou, my love, art nowhere near.

They tell me that the sky is blue, The hills take on a purple hue; I do not know, I cannot see, For thou, my love, art not with me.