The sound of her silk skirt has stopped.
On the marble pavement dust grows.
Her empty room is cold and still.
Fallen leaves are piled against the doors.
Longing for that lovely lady
How can I bring my aching heart to rest?

The poem turns absence into soundless, tactile detail: the stopped rustle of silk signals the end of living presence, while dust on marble and cold stillness in an “empty room” mark time’s indifferent advance. The piled leaves suggest both seasonal change and neglect—nature quietly sealing the doors of memory. Against these objective signs of decay, the speaker’s longing remains immediate and bodily (“aching heart”), creating a tension between the world’s slow forgetting and grief’s refusal to settle. The final question underscores mourning as unresolved: love persists, but there is no clear ritual or action that can restore inner peace.