Have you seen the pale and lonely river flow,
sweetly gazing to the stars,
with a graceful look towards the shining glow
of the moon, sweeping over lovelorn scars,

as is the maelstrom of such desires,
scorching the frailness of the will,
but burns though Winter Queen is ruling still,
put out in haste by the Lonesome River,
a lonely river, singing melodies of Melancholy,
to all poets listening, though can't but shiver
from the voices she's dressed in Vanity,
and such sweet insanity; this dress
Man's put to poetry and versed gloom,
who's heard those notes sung in distress,
by her who 's never seen how love can bloom?

But alas, a pale white rose can love with ease,
a fragile swan swims on the tunes,
and fates touch can cure the dark disease,
that Loneliness invokes with its perfumes.

It is a sword pulled from the heart;
the wedding between swan and sea,
for lonely rivers was a sea at start
but strolled away from peaceful glee;
so when it feels the touch of wings,
feathers touching on its skin,
how sweet the warmness that it brings!
How sweet the heart that pounds within!

So flew away, the lovelorn swan,
brought the pale white rose up to the sky.
The river dried, it's simply gone;
some say, the lovescorned swan has made it die.