In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud And your form and colour are the way I love them You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips And in your life my infinite dreams live.
The lamp of my soul dyes your feet My sour wine is sweeter on your lips Oh reaper of my evening song How solitary dreams believe you to be mine.
You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon's Wind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice. Huntress of the depths of my eyes, your plunder Stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water
You are taken in the net of my music, my love And my nets of music are wide as the sky My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begins.