The beautiful odour of October winds Gently caress me with it's benevolent hands, Yet so dark and gloomy in it's soul It permeates my intense heart with silent delight How I do love the passion of fading away The passion of dying... For it is Death herself who sweeps the landscape, Embracing a lost world in shades and vapour I will never forget the dread of November, Her grievance and stillness of lonely nights The desire of heart, in minor adorned, Dancing so gently as dim northern lights How I do love this pleasant seclusion, This old bitter-sweet feeling, The passion of solitude O' my frozen Queen of December nights Let me transcend into a sleep without dreams, Let me wither in your cold white arms...