I

In the sky the sun is failing,
And the weary day would sleep,
Here the willow fronds are trailing
In the water still and deep.

From my darling I must sever:
Stream, oh tears, stream forth amain!
In the breeze the rushes quiver
And the willow sighs in pain.

On my soul in silence grieving
Mild thou gleamest from afar,
As through rushes interweaving
Gleams the mirrored evening star.

IV

Sunset dull and drear;
Dark the clouds drive past;
Sultry, full of fear,
All the winds fly fast.

Through the sky's wild rack
Shoots the lightning pale;
O'er the waters black
Burns its flickering trail.

In the vivid glare
Half I see thy form,
And thy streaming hair
Flutters in the storm.

V

On the lake as it reposes
Dwells the moon with glow serene
Interweaving pallid roses
With the rushes' crown of green.

Stags from out the hillside bushes
Gaze aloft into the night,
Waterfowl amid the rushes
Vaguely stir with flutterings light

Down my tear-dim glance I bend now,
While through all my soul a rare
Thrill of thought toward thee doth tend now
Like an ecstasy of prayer.