I who wander before this threshold
call in vain on rain and tempest
that they might keep her here with me.

      Surely the wind roared in the forest,
among the clouds the thunder roaring,
‘ere dawn was in the heavens shining.

      O dear clouds, O sky, O earth, O branches,
my lady now departs: have pity, if ever
was pity in this world for wretched lovers.

      O storm, now stir yourself, O rain-clouds
now gather yourself to overwhelm me,
until the sun bears day to other lands.

      Clear sky, the dying winds, on every hand
the leaves and grasses rest, the cruel sun
dazzles me with light, filled with tears.