O my sleeper echo maiden
Bright be thy sweet face:
Sorrow is a Shadow raven
Pity, is so severe thou ache!
Who consumes thou pureness
I know thou havest been imersed
In the obscure dome of sickness
Such cold, fragile touch, cursed...
Fall in love with such dead boy
No good would make, and cry
Is no longer a way, dry like soy,
Thou eyes are. If loneliness was all;
But the dead wants the pure ones
To join them in the great nightfall.