V

And now the lowest pine-branch Is drawn across the disk of the sun. Old friends who will forget me soon I must go on, Towards those blue death-mountains I have forgot so long.

In the marsh grasses There lies forever My last treasure, With the hope of my heart.

The ice is glazing over, Torn lanterns flutter, On the leaves is snow.

In the frosty evening Toll the old bell for me Once, in the sleepy temple.

Perhaps my soul will hear.

Afterglow: Before the stars peep I shall creep out into darkness.