They skip and they make wry grimaces, So scoffing and yet so shy; And twirling mist-like together, They titter and haste swiftly by.
In vision I lately was weeping, I dreamt thou wert laid in thy grave; I awoke, and the tears unceasing My cheeks continued to lave.
In vision I lately was weeping, I dreamt I was left, love, by thee; I awoke, and weeping continued Both long and bitterly.
In vision I lately was weeping, I dreamt thou wert kind as of yore; I awoke, and my tears in torrents Continued to flow as before.
All night in vision behold I thee, And see thee greeting me kindly; And loudly weeping then throw I me Before thy sweet feet blindly.
With sorrowing looks thou stand’st in my view, Thy fair locks mournfully shaking; While teardrops bright of pearly hue From thy dear eyes are breaking.
A gentle word thou dost secretly say, And givest a cypress-wreath sweetly; I awake, and the wreath has vanish’d away, And the word is forgotten completely.
’tis autumn, the night’s dark and gloomy With rain and tempest above; Where tarries,--O tell it unto me,-- My poor and sorrowing love?
By the window I see her reclining, In her chamber lonely and drear, And out in the night, sadly pining, She looks with many a tear.
The trees in the autumn wind rustle, The night is humid and cold; I ride all alone in the forest, And round me my grey cloak I fold.
And as I am riding, before me My thoughts unrestrainedly roam; They lightly and airily bear me To my own dear mistress’s home.
The dogs are barking, the servants With glittering torches appear; I climb up the winding staircase, My spurs ring loudly and clear.
In her bright-lighted tapestry chamber, So full of magical charms, My own sweet darling awaits me, I hasten into her arms.
The wind in the leaves is sighing, The oak thus whispers to me: “What means, thou foolish young horseman, “Thy foolish reverie?”
A glittering star is falling From its shining home in the air; The star of love ’tis surely That I see falling there.
The blossoms and leaves in plenty From the apple tree fall each day; The merry breezes approach them, And with them merrily play.
The swan in the pool is singing, And up and down doth he steer, And, singing gently ever, Dips under the water clear.