When I must go

To where I may not take anything

I have and hold here

Pipes or books or friends

What then shall I hold, dear,

How then shall I swing

Into the silence of all alone,

With empty hands?

How may I cross these quiet lands?

I shall not be alone.

I shall have something there,

Something so much my own

That even sleep may not quite rob me

Out of a prayer.

Before I go, I shall have made

Three little songs that seem

The songs you might have sung.

These shall I take: three little songs,

Three little songs in a dream.