Evening! Bless thee, but who calleth thee Evening? Thou art really the hour that devoureth the lives of the wedded ones!

Thou lookest melancholy and pale, O Eventide! Pray, tell me, dear, is thy lover also cruel even as mine?

The dewy evening hour that once used to come trembling and sighing before me, now advanceth boldly, bringing nought but grief and despair unto my heart.

When the beloved is away, evening approacheth even as the executioner advancing to the execution-ground.

What is the kindness that I had done to the morning hour? and how have I injured eventide?65

Alack the day! I never knew the sting of the evening so long as my beloved was by my side.

This sickness buddeth in the morning, goeth on opening its petals the livelong day, and standeth full-blown at eventide.

They call it the pipe of the shepherd, but verily it is a murderous weapon to me: for it ushereth in the evening that burneth me so.

If evening that hath already driven me mad should advance any further, the whole town will be shrouded in sorrow before long, for I shall simply die.

The life which is yet clinging on to me will soon depart: for eventide recalleth to me the image of him who is mad after wealth.