by Joseph von Eichendorf (1788-1857)
translated from the German
The distant church bells chiming,
Through night the hours wade,
A lamp is burning low,
Your little bed is made
And still the wind is keening
Round and round the walls,
Lonely, we within them
Listen to it call
As if you’d just been wandering
And then a doorway found,
Softly tapped and entered
And wearily sat down
We wretched, foolish people
We the baffled roam,
Horrified in darkness
While you have long been home
