How long the trail! How far the goal!
Last year the moons might come and go
Like dancing shadows on the snow.
My heart was light, my heart was strong;
I cared not though the way be long;
But now — the end is you — my soul!—
I fear the dark, I fear the dread
White frost that hovers round my heart,
The cold, high sun, and, wide apart,
The frozen, pitiless stars above.
So far, so far from my true love,
And, oh! I fear, I fear the dead!
I fear their fingers, grasping and pale.
I did not fear the dead last year —
But now, the kisses of my dear!
The breast of her, so kind and warm,
Ah, heart! I must not come to harm —
How far the goal! How long the trail!