Father, I beg of Thee a little task To dignify my days, 'tis all I ask.
She is happy where she lies With the dust upon her eyes.
You are loved. If so, what else matters?
But she was not made for any man, and she will never be all mine.
I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.
Night falls fast. Today is in the past. Blown from the dark hill hither to my door Three flakes, then four Arrive, then many more.