Winter and night, the white frost and the darkness
fall, and the hands of life release the spirit;
gladly she goes hence to her starry pasture.

Frostbound, the plough leans idle on the headland;
now the benighted hind forsakes the furrow;
earth is at peace, no longer vexed with labour.

With still delight the soul receives the omen,
thinks on her travail in the sowing season,
calmly remembers all the heat of harvest:

knows that the end is fairest; sees the heavens
hung with creation: in the wooly valley
sees on the earth one star that steals toward her.

It is Urania: through the darkened woodland
now she advances: now she brings her vestal
lamp to the tomb, with nameless consolation.