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 hopes of my heart.

The ice is glazing over,

Tom 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.