That was when the ones who smiled Were the dead, glad to be at rest.

As the future ripens in the past, so the past rots in the future -- a terrible festival of dead leaves.

The secret of secrets is inside me again.

If I can't have love, if I can't find peace, / Give me a bitter glory.

If you were music I would listen to you ceaselessly And my low spirits would brighten up.

A loss, but who still mourns the breath of one woman, or laments one wife? Though my heart never can forget, how, for one look, she gave up her life.

Who will grieve for this woman? Does she not seem too insignificant for our concern? Yet in my heart I never will deny her, Who suffered death because she chose to turn.