What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,

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I have forgotten , and what arms have lain

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Under my head till morning; however the rain

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Is brimming with phantoms this evening, tap and moan

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Upon the glass and tune in for answer,

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Furthermore, in my heart there mixes a peaceful torment

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For unremembered chaps that not once more

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Will swing to me at midnight with a cry.

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Hence in winter stands the forlorn tree,

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Nor comprehends what winged creatures have vanished one by one,

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However knows its limbs more quiet than previously:

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I can't state what cherishes have gone back and forth,

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I just realize that late spring sang in me

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A short time, that in me sings no more.