Yea, it is dawn, alas!
Gray is the earth, and cold;
Swift was our night to pass.
Thy hair is like fine gold,
Over the pillows spread
And on the sheet's white fold
The light falls on thine head
And trembles in thine eyes
From which the dreams have fled.
But they keep memories;
Love burnt us up like grass:
Surely Love never dies!
Yea, it is dawn, alas!