A frail hand in the rose-grey evening
Kisses the shining keys that hardly stir,
While, with the light, small flutter of a wing,
And old song, like an old tired wanderer,
Goes very softly, as if trembling,
About the room long redolent of Her.
What lullaby is this that comes again
To dandle my poor being with its breath?
What wouldst thou have of me, gay laughing strain?
What hadst thou, desultory faint refrain
That now into the garden to thy death
Floatest through the half-opened window-pane?
V
O sad, sad was my soul, alas!
For a woman, a woman's sake it was.
I have had no comfort since that day,
Although my heart went its way,
Although my heart and my soul went
From the woman into banishment.
I have had no comfort since that day,
Although my heart went its way.
And my heart, being sore in me,
Said to my soul: How can this be,
How can this be or have been thus,
This proud, sad banishment of us?
My soul said to my heart: Do I
Know what snare we are tangled by,
Seeing that, banished, we know not whether
We are divided or together?