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What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten , and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; however the rain
Is brimming with phantoms this evening, tap and moan
Upon the glass and tune in for answer,
Furthermore, in my heart there mixes a peaceful torment
For unremembered chaps that not once more
Will swing to me at midnight with a cry.
Hence in winter stands the forlorn tree,
Nor comprehends what winged creatures have vanished one by one,
However knows its limbs more quiet than previously:
I can't state what cherishes have gone back and forth,
I just realize that late spring sang in me
A short time, that in me sings no more.

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