What is going on with me ? Sleep and calm from me both flee. Quite a trifle it my be, Yet upsets me dreadfully !

Darling, sailing north to sea,
Parting with me tenderly,
Left a fir-tree marked for me
With a notch for memory.

"If it's overgrown", he said,
"Never will I come back here;
Hurricanes won't spare my head!
Never will I see you, dear!"

So I pine, poor girl, once gay;
Up the cliffs I climb each day.
such a trifle, I must say,
Yet each day I waste away.

Every morning without cease
I re-cut that notch again.
Tell me, oceans, tell me, seas,
Seaways shining on the main!
Is he live and hale, and where
Does he roam? Dispel my care!

Waves roll homeward over seas,
Homeward flies the nippy breeze,
Yet my darling can't be seen...

Must I cut our fir-tree clean
Through the stem, do tell me 
Please ?