Glory to you, inescapable pain!
The gray-eyed king died yesterday.

The autumn evening was sultry and red,
My husband returned and quietly said:

“You know, they brought him back from the hunt,
They found his corpse by the old oak tree.

I pity the queen. He was so young!..
In just one night her hair turned white.”

He found his pipe on the mantelpiece
And went out to his nighttime shift.

I’ll go and wake my daughter now,
I’ll look into her little gray eyes.

While outside the rustling poplars say:
“Your king is no longer upon this earth…”