Oh, if it’s true that in the night

When sleep has overcome the living

And from the sky the moonbeams glide

Across the tombstones unforgiving,

Oh, if it’s true that there appear

All those from graves and leave them hollow,

I call a shadow, wait in sorrow:

My Leila, love, I’m here! I’m here!

Come, precious shadow face to face;

Be what you were before we parted,

As pale and cold as winter days,

One final time by torment martyred.

Come as a distant star, come near

As does a sound or breeze affluter

Or as a ghost that makes one stutter—

It matters not: I’m here! I’m here!

I call for you, but not because

I blame the folks whose slight infernal

Had killed my friend with countless wrongs,

Nor do I fathom rest eternal,

And not because at times, o dear,

I’m torn by doubt… But dreaming of you

I long to say that I still love you,

That I’m still yours: I’m here! I’m here!