A phantom gleamed — its vision shown,Embodying our twin souls' own;
By God, I shall not forgetThe meeting that made spirits met;
And this, our valley's sun on high,Plays out the world's game in the sky;
It sets, then rises to our gazeWith meeting's joy and golden rays;
And this, our moon that shines so bright,Pours silver light across the night;
And this, our wondrous garden fair,Reveals its secrets to the air;
The river's murmur I can hear,Singing a tune imprisoned here;
We came to bid it fond farewell,With moans of one whom sorrows swell;
The nightingale at twilight's fallRepeats our weeping melody;
For what was lost when dusk would call —Each heart complains in unity;
Night's darkness has descended now,The evening star has vanished low,
The sunlight's glow has turned away —Nor do I find its shadow's stay.
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