'O lonely workman, standing there
In a dream, why do you stare and stare
At her grave, as no other grave there were?
'If your great gaunt eyes so importune
Her soul by the shine of this corpse-cold moon
Maybe you'll raise her phantom soon!'
'Why, fool, it is what I would rather see
Than all the living folk there be;
But alas, there is no such joy for me!'
'Ah -- she was one you loved, no doubt,
Through good and evil, through rain and drought,
And when she passed, all your sun went out?
'Nay: she was the woman I did not love,
Whom all the others were ranked above,
Whom during her life I thought nothing of.'