18.
On the dim and far horizon
Appeareth, misty and pale,
The city, with all its towers,
In evening twilight’s veil.
A humid gust is ruffling
The path o’er the waters dark;
With mournful measure, the sailor
Is rowing my tiny bark.
The sun once more ariseth,
And over the earth gleams he,
And shows me the spot out yonder
Where my loved one was lost to me.