The moon hung high; the snowy expanse
Lay pale and desolate about us,
Like my soul pale and empty
For beside me, so mute and wild,
As mute and cold as my suffering,
As if he would nevermore leave,
Death sat stiffly and waited.

Then it came wafting over as mildly as in the past,
So wearily and gently
From distant night,
So heavy with sorrow
The breath of his violin came,
And before me stood his silent image.

He who had woven himself about me like a ribbon
So that my blossom did not fall apart,
And that my heart found that longing,
The great longing without an object:
There he stood now in the desolate land,
He stood, so pale and solemn,
And neither looked up nor greeted me,
Only his musical sounds did he let drift
And weep through the cool meadow;
And only staring at me
From his brow,
As if it were an eye, hollow and pallid,
Was the dark mark of a deep wound.

And more drearily the dreary song poured forth,
And poured forth so fervidly and grew and swelled,
As hot and full
As life that glows for love,
As love that screams for life,
And for bliss not savoured,
Thus full of pain,
Thus raging poured forth
The streaming song and surged;
And quietly, quietly also bled and flowed
Into the pale snow-field, red and wan,
The dark mark of the deep wound.

And ever more wearily floated the weary hand,
And before me stood
A pale day,
A distant, pale day of youth,
When stiffly in the sand
his blooming a mouldering ruin,
When his yearning forgot itself
In the excesses of its depression
And tired of its sadness,
[And] strode toward the goal;
And the weeping song screamed loudly and suddenly,
The agitating [song], and surged forth,
And the lament of his strings cut,
And his brow bled
And joined in the weeping
Into the frozen misery of my soul,
As if I should hear a command,
As if I should rejoice that I suffer,
Feel with empathy all the guilt of my suffering
And all the warm benevolence of life --
And weeping, bleeding he turned away
Into the pale darkness and perished.

And with trembling I heard his song
Evading me and fleeing from me.  And as it
Became so delicate, so quavery
The distant pleading of the long tones,
I felt the blowing of a cold wind
And laden with dread
[I felt] the air bestirring itself about me,
And trembling, I wanted now to see him,
To see him listening,
He, who sat waiting during my misery,
And I turned -- there lay bleakly
The pale field, and distantly and wanly
Death too vanished into the darkness.

The moon hung high; and gently and wearily
It vanished into the empty night,
The pleading song,
And vanished and departed,
The pleading song of my dead friend.