Ah, no, the Boatman brings with him no treasure, but only a white rose in his hand and a song on his lips.
It is for her who watches alone at night with her lamp burning.
She dwells in the wayside hut. Her loose hair flies in the wind and hides her eyes.
The storm shrieks through her broken doors, the light flickers in her earthen lamp flinging shadows on the walls.
Through the howl of the winds she hears him call her name, she whose name is unknown.
It is long since the Boatman sailed. It will be long before the day breaks and he knocks at the door.
The drums will not be beaten and none will know.
Only light shall fill the house, blessed shall be the dust, and the heart glad.
All doubts shall vanish in silence when the Boatman comes to the shore.