When the dream of your voice draws near,
O my stranger,
I am birds, you the wind,
I clouds, you the sun,
I the bell, you the tongue.

At the sound of your voice
There is neither dawn nor night,
Weeping nor the peace of death,
But only your voice
And I replying
And you not answering,
A part of my soul passing and I not finding it —
Though I open the door and stare out
When the dream of your voice draws near,
O my stranger!