The too limpid streets have grown narrow,
alas, too bright,
for how shall I walk past beauty 
in such strange night?

The stairs have turned crooked, 
the casement is twisted awry:
I know that I could not reach you 
if I should try.

The latch would not lift from my fingers,
the gate would stick,
The flame of the candle would flutter 
away from the wick,

The stars would go out and even 
the moon be gone 
and I would be left in the shadows 
alone, alone.