The hours I counted on the clock, until the glass of milk turned cold and sour, then alone did I stop.

Perhaps to sigh, or even to weep, then returned to my vigil, to faithfully keep.

A clock has three hands, a man has two; yet not even a hundred hands may reach you.

So, O Luna, O Moon- be a dear friend and send her my affections, will you. I am waiting, my love, beneath the Midnight's moon... and biting cold winds.