I shall crown you with my garland, before I take leave.
You ever spoke to me in all my joys and sorrows.
And now, at the end of the day, my own heart will break in speech.
Words came to me, but not the tune, and the song that I never sang to you remains hidden behind my tears.
Brother, did you notice that some one seemed to have passed by?
The only thing you feel is this passing by.
I felt the touch of the mantle of some wayfarer.
We came out to capture somebody, but now we feel the longing to be captured ourselves.
Ah, here comes the Minstrel. Where have you brought us? The breath of the wayfaring world touches us here,—the breath of the starry sky.
We came seeking a new form of play. But now we have forgotten what play it was.
We wanted to catch the Old Man.
And everybody said that he was terrifying, a bodiless head, a gaping mouth, a dragon eager to swallow the moon of the youth of the world. But now we are no longer afraid. The flowers go, the leaves go, the waves in the river go, and we shall also follow them. Ah, blind Minstrel, strike your lute and sing to us. Who knows what is the hour of the night?
(The Minstrel sings.)