Slowly drum the fingers, empty is the
hand,
Distant gaze the eyes, collecting
nothing from the air;
Quiet is the breathing, quiet is the
room,
Wond'ring is the mind unto the time
when she was there.
Weakened are senses, languid is the
soul,
Grinding turn the thoughts into the
present lonely night;
Bowed, the head in weeping – O, mourn
the foolish thought!
Which, lost amid the shadows, had
forgot the blazing light!
Softly lay the head, the wond'ring soul
is loved,
Close the eyes in peace and let
thoughts dissolve away;
Quiet is the breathing, quiet is the
room,
Waits the soul until the shadows flee
before the day.
