Water-lilies, rings his death-song:
"Lovely world, I now must leave thee;
Lovely world I die reluctant!"
Thus he blew there. Were those tears which
Glistened brightly on his trumpet,
Or some rain-drops which had fallen?
Onward now; the sharp spurs quickly
In the horse's flanks he presses,
And is flying at full gallop
Round the forest's farthest edge.