She who ever had remained in the depth of my being, 
in the twilight of gleams and of glimpses; 
she who never opened her veils in the morning light, 
will be my last gift to thee, my God, 
folded in my final song.

Words have wooed yet failed to win her; 
persuasion has stretched to her 
its eager arms in vain.

I have roamed from country to country 
keeping her in the core of my heart, 
and around her have risen and fallen 
the growth and decay of my life.

Over my thoughts and actions, 
my slumbers and dreams, 
she reigned yet dwelled alone and apart.

Many a man knocked at my door and asked for her 
and turned away in despair.

There was none in the world 
who ever saw her face to face, 
and she remained in her loneliness 
waiting for thy recognition.