In silence, by the window sitting
I look out the window I see snowy field and trees without casting, from the chimneys smoke
But bitter sighing at the window, I silence myself speaking
Why is it so lonely and quiet in my soul and Cabot's me in this world
But thinking about myself I see in the window of his friend Lubin
So in grief I understand he has gone and never will come
I know him well there
But I'm here without him, very hard.