To the Night - BLUME

Shining tired on the waves

The setting sun;

Its beams, red and bright

Gently pierce the sea

Its chariot’s descending

The clear western sky;

Night’s claiming her right

To rule the world

Her wings open wide

Under which we’ll mourn and pray

Will hide our shame;

My dear Guinevere

In dismal grief we’ll find

Full redemption

A flock of crows

Approaching noisily

Stubbornly croaks

Sober words to me:

«That yearning heart of yours!

You fool!

What have you done?

Bringer of death

Your soul’s forever lost»

Her wings open wide

Under which we’ll mourn and pray

Will hide our shame;

My dear Guinevere

In dismal grief we’ll find

Full redemption

Night’s wings open wide

Under which we’ll mourn and pray

Will hide our shame;

My dear Guinevere

In dismal grief we’ll find