All tears done away with the bitter unquiet sea,
Death done away from among the living at last,
Man shall say of sorrow—Love grant it to thee and me!—
At last, “It is past.”

Shall I say of pain, “It is past,” nor say it with thee,
Thou heart of my heart, thou soul of my soul, my Friend?
Shalt thou say of pain, “It is past,” nor say it with me
Beloved to the end?