She who ever had remained in the depth of my being, in the twilight of gleams and of glimpses; she who never opened her veils in the morning light, will be my last gift to thee, my God, folded in my final song.
 
Words have wooed yet failed to win her; persuasion has stretched to her its eager arms in vain.
 
I have roamed from country to country keeping her in the core of my heart, and............