* * *

What's in my name? It's soulless,
It shall expire, like the dismal roar
Of waves that hit the distant shore, —
Like nighttime noises in the forest!

Upon the memo sheet, in grief,
Its imprint in the stillborn gloom,
Much like the writing on the tomb,
In foreign language it will leave.

What's in it? All the lost and trite
In new and wild insurrection,
Within your soul it won't excite
The pure and kind recollections.

But silently, in time of anguish
Pronounce it softly while grieving
Say that my memory won't vanish
That there's a heart in which I'm living...