Your hand, my wonder, is now icy cold.
The purest light of the celestial domehas burned me through.
And now we areas two still plams lying in darlmess,as two black banks of a frozen streamin the chasm of the world.
Our hair combed back is carved in wood,the moon walks over our ebony shoulders.
A distant cockcrow, the night goes by, silent.
Rich is the rime of love, withered the dowry.
Where are you, living in what depths of time,love, stepping down into what waters,now, when the frost of our voiceless lipsdoes not fend off the divine fires?
In a forest of clouds, of fcam, and of silverwe live, caressing lands under
And we are wielding the might of a dark scepterto earn oblivion.
My love, your breast cut through by a clinelknows nothing anymore of what it was.
Of clouds at dawn, of angers at daybreak,of shallows in springtime it has no remembrance.
And you have led me, as once an angel
Tobias, onto the rusty mashes of Lombardy.
But a day came when a sign frightened you,a stinma of golden measure.
With a scream, with inunobile fear in your thin handsyou fell into a pit that ashes lie over,where neither northern firs nor Italian yewscould protect our andent bed of lovers.
What was it. what is it, what will it bewe filled the world with our cry and calling.
The dawn is back, the red moon set,do we know now?
In a heavy shipA helmman comes, throws a silken ropeand binds w tightly to eaah other,then he pours on friends, once enemies,a handful of snow.
