Now everything that surged through springtime
Has clarified to beautiful, mild repose,
The juice that once fermented fierily on the vine
Has become a golden drink.

And as it sparkles in the glass in front of me,
Like a shadow the thought comes over me,
[The thought] that everything shall soon be shrouded in dark night,
And in the prescience of death I seek -- you!

You who were light and radiance of the day for me
And then faded before the evening came,
You who took my blossoming with you into the grave,
Long before autumn took it with a brutal fist.

Are you sleeping, beloved? Although the trumpets of the last day 
Shall be the first to burst your quiet abode,
Do you already from your sunny realm look out
For the steps of your wife that bring her home?

So often it seems to me as if your holy, beloved shade
Glides through the nights,
And only the beam of morning upon my pillow
Takes from me the illusion that I am still with you!