THOU art the soul of a summer's day, Thou art the breath of the rose. But the summer is fled And the rose is dead Where are they gone, who knows, who knows? Thou art the blood of my heart o' hearts, Thou art my soul's repose, But my heart grows numb And my soul is dumb Where art thou, love, who knows, who knows? Thou art the hope of my after years — Sun for my winter snows But the years go by 'Neath a clouded sky. Where shall we meet, who knows, who knows?