The twilight turning to evening, believe me,
Reminded me of an obscure reply.
Waiting until suddenly a door will open,
And the vanishing light will fall on me.

Like the pale dreams in the past
I recall the features of a face
And the fragments of unknowable words,
Like echoes from former worlds,
Where you lived and palely walked,
Hiding twilight under your eyelashes,
A living barque
Was drifting like a white swan
Fiery streams propelled it--
Worried songs of mine...
You heeded thoughtfully to them,
And the features of face are preserved,
And the pale height is memorized,
Where the last dreams have rushed away.

In this height, believe me, my life is kept by
A dim memory of the gloomy days
I dimly remember - a door will open
The vanishing light will fall on me.

20 December 1901