The night is coming.

The moonlight strikes
on evening's anvil.

The night is coming.

A giant tree clothes itself
in the leaves of cantos.

The night is coming.

If you came to see me,
on the path of storm-winds...

The night is coming.

...you would find me crying,
under high, black poplars.
Ay, girl with the dark hair!
Under high, black poplars.