Music echoes far away; but here is silent night,
The plants breathe on me with a slumbering scent.
I have always, always thought yours;
I want to sleep, but you must dance.
It does not stop, it races without ceasing;
The candles burn and the violins scream,
Divide it and the rows close,
And all glow; but you are pale.
And you must dance; foreign arms must nestle
Take hold of your heart; o suffer not violence!
I see your white dress flying by
And your light, tender figure. – – –
And sweeter streaming swells the fragrance of the night
And more dreamy from the cup of the plants.
I have always, always thought yours;
I want to sleep, but you must dance.
(Theodor Storm)