[Verse I] She came to us in summer rain, her carriage overturned; a lantern trembled by the road, the broken axle burned. They carried her into the house, so pale beneath her veil, and when she woke she knew my face, though I had told no tale. She said she'd dreamed of me before, when both of us were young; then held my hand a moment more when everything was done. [Refrain] Come nearer, the candles are dying, the garden lies heavy with rain; I knew you before you could name me, and dreamed you would find me again. [Verse II] She slept until the afternoon and hated morning bells; she knew the ruined chapel paths, the woods, the hidden wells. At dinner she would scarcely eat, but watched me drink my wine; then bent to fasten at my throat a ribbon that was mine. She touched two fingers to my pulse and smiled to find it fleet; outside, the rain began again and darkened all the street. [Refrain] Come nearer, the candles are dying, the garden lies heavy with rain; I knew you before you could name me, and dreamed you would find me again. [Verse III] The village girls grew pale that month. The churchyard gained new flowers. Their mothers watched beside their beds through all the midnight hours. And I grew tired before the dusk, though summer days were long; sometimes I woke and heard below a woman humming a song. Two little wounds appeared one morn where neither thorn had been. She touched them lightly with her thumb and said I bruised too easily. [Instrumental Tango] [Verse IV] One morning strangers filled the hall and spoke an ancient name. They brought a portrait from the vault. The face was hers. The same. She stood beside the window then, the daylight at her back, and seemed more beautiful to me because her dress was black. “They will explain me presently. Men dearly love to try.” She kissed my forehead very softly. “Remember me before they tell you why.” [Final Refrain] Come nearer, the candles are dying, the garden grows silver with rain; when all of their stories are finished, you'll dream of me, darling, again.
