I've listened for the little windThat wakes the sleeping World—the gentle little wind—The little, sobbing, sighing wind that makes the Earth so dear.Go, Eunice, go and see what is it calls so low, so clear.What is it calls? It seems to call for me.
Grand'mère! Grand'mère! I am afraid,The candle flares so strange,—I am afraid, Grand'mère!
What is it, Eunice? Go and see what is it calls so clear.Go, Eunice, go and see,—go open wide the door and have no fear;It is the little wind of dawn that makes the World so dear,—So soft, so clear, so well I hear—. The little wind has wakened me.
Grand'mère! Grand'mère!
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