Now far I am from you, before my fire alone

And read again the hours that so silently have gone

When it seems that eighty years beneath my feet did glide

That I am old as winter, that maybe you have died

The shadows of the past swift stream across life's floor

The tale of all times, nothings that now exist no more;

While the wind with clumsy fingers softly trumpets at the blind

And sadly spins the fiber of the story in my mind...

I see you stand before me in a mist that does not fall

Your eyes are full of tears, and your fingers long and cold;

About my neck caressing your arms you gently ply

And it seems you want to speak to me yet only sigh

And thus I clasp entranced my all, my world of grace

And both our lives are joined in that supreme embrace...

Oh, let the voice of memory remain forever dumb

Forget the joy that was, but that nevermore will come

The shadows of the past swift stream across life's floor

The tale of all times, nothings that now exist no more;

While the wind with clumsy fingers softly trumpets at the blind

And sadly spins the fiber of the story in my mind...

And thus I clasp entranced my all, my world of grace

And both our lives are joined in that supreme embrace...

Forget how after an instant you thrust my arms aside

For now I’m old and lonely, and maybe you have died