Her brow is clear, yet in the distance The future lightning gathers there, The storm which, spite of all resistance, My spirit’s deepest seat will tear.
Her mouth is lovely, but with terror I see beneath the roses hiss The serpents which will prove my error, With honied scorn and treach’rous kiss.
Impell’d by yearning, still more near I Draw to the dear but dangerous place; Her darling voice already hear I-- Bright flames her every sentence grace.
“Sir, what’s the name”--I hear her utter These words--“Of her whose voice I heard?” I only answer with a stutter: “Madam, I did not hear one word!”
Yes, I now, a poor magician, Like sage Merlin, am held fast In my magic ring at last, In disconsolate condition.
At her feet imprison’d sweetly I am lying all the while, Gazing on her eyes’ sweet smile, And the hours are passing fleetly.
Thus, for hours, days, weeks behold me! Like a vision time has fled, Scarcely know I what I said, And I know not what she told me.
Just as if her lips were dearly Press’d to mine, beyond control I am stirr’d, till in my soul I can trace the flames full clearly.
Thou lie’st in my arms so gladly. So gladly thou lie’st on my heart! I am thy one sole heaven, My dearest star thou art.
The foolish race of mortals Is swarming far below; They’re shouting and storming and scolding, (And each one is right, I well know)
Their cap and bells they jingle, And quarrel without a cause, And with their heavy club-sticks They break each other’s jaws.
How happy are we, my darling, That we so far away are; Thou hidest in thy heaven Thy head, my dearest star!
I love such white and snowy members, The thin veil of a spirit tender, Wild and large eyes, a brow encompass’d With flowing locks of swarthy splendour.
Thou art indeed the very person Whom I in every land have sought for, While girls like thee a man of honour Like me have always cared and thought for.
The very man thou stand’st in need of Is found in me. At first thou’lt pay me Richly with sentiments and kisses, And then, as usual, wilt betray me.
The spring’s already at the gate With looks my care beguiling; The country round appeareth straight A flower-garden smiling.
My darling sitteth by my side, In carriage onward fleeting; She looks on me with tender pride, Her heart, I feel it beating.