A single fir-tree, lonely,
on a northern mountain height,
sleeps in a white blanket,
draped in snow and ice.
Our death is in the cool of night,
our life is in the pool of day.
The darkness glows, I’m drowning,
the day has tired me with light.
There’s a mirror likeness between those two
shining, youthfully-fledged figures, though
one seems paler than the other and more austere,
I might even say more perfect, more distinguished,
Through the wood when I am wandering
In the dusky eventide,
Goes a dainty form in silence
I Love this white and slender body,
These limbs that answer Love's caresses,
Passionate eyes, and forehead covered