Chapter VII

The world lies now encircled
By the frosty winter night.
No use that by the hearth-stone
I think of love's sad flight.

The logs will soon be burnt out,
To ashes all will fall;
The embers will cease glowing,
That is the end of all.

It is the same old story,
I think of nothing more
But silence and forgetting--
Forget what I adore?