The haunted heart beseeches me:
It cries to my soul: " Winter has come ...
With what a withering the wind blows!
And the grey twilight is bleak, though the lamplighter opens blossoms of white in the air ...

" Wanderer, return!
Go to where the hearth is warm and the faces crowd:
Hearken to the calling of the children! "

So the haunted heart beseeches me,
But from my heart I turn my face
And continue my lonely journey into the sombre dark.