dreamlike;
The rain plays the lightest of tunes;
The lamps through the mist make it seem like
A city of moons.

No longer my fancies run riot;
I hold the most magic of charms—
You smile at me, warm and unquiet,
Here in my arms.

I do not wonder or witness
Whether it rains or is fair;
I only can think of your sweetness,
And the scent of your hair.

I am deaf to the clatter and drumming,
And life is a thing to ignore...
Alas, my beloved, we are coming
Once more to your door!...

You have gone; it is listless and lonely;
The evening is empty again;
The world is a blank—there is only
The desolate rain.