She is the white heron
And my startled heart
is moved to memories
of  ardent youth

That must be the reason
why I feel such love again!
Yet while I still have you.
why think of someone else.

Why the discontent?
While the heart still beats
The comfort of old love
is all to easily distracted

If only silently she would go,
among the herons flying by,
she would be but a flake of snow
passing in a line across the sky

Yet when it passes ?
Will you seem so dear again?
Who else appeals forever,
and holds my love!