A Widow's Sorrow and Devotion

The creeper grows, and wraps the shrubs,
Convolvulus the moorland hides. —
My well-beloved no more is near;
Who with the lone one now abides?

The creeper grows, and wraps the thorns,
Convolvulus the grave o'ergrows. —
My well-beloved no more is near;
Who with the lone one takes repose?

O pillow of horn, so beautiful!
O figured coverlet, so gay!
My well-beloved no more is near;
Who with the lone one waits for day?

Through summer day,
Through winter night,
Long years will pass, and then myself
Will take to his abode my flight.

Through winter night,
Through summer day,
Long years will pass, and then myself
Will to his dwelling wing my way.