My love, the dawn speaks
of your pure white attire...
My eyes will not see you;
my heart awaits you!

The wind has carried with it
your name in the morning;
the echo of your steps
repeated by the mountain...
my eyes will not see you;
my heart awaits you!

In the darkened towers
the bells are ringing...
my eyes will not see you;
my heart awaits you!

The striking of the hammer
tells of the black box;
and the striking of the hoe,
of the site of the grave...
My eyes will not see you;
My heart awaits you!