What do I hear that calls my name, now in the long days dying? Is it the wind that plays a game? Is it the seabird crying? Is it the love I lost too soon, sighing my name without regret? Who are these ghosts who haunt me yet? Who - there is no denying. Once my love came sailing by, grieved with smile and soon to die If you would catch the tears I cry, gather the sea foam fly.