Now I leave her modest dwelling,
My beloved’s quiet abode,
And with secret step I’m stealing
Through the desolate dark wood.
Luna breaks through oaks and bushes,
Zephyr intimates she’s near;
And the pungent bowing birches
Strew for her sweet incense here.
How I joy in this soft coolness
Of the lovely summer night!
Oh, how silent is this stillness
Of the inner soul’s delight!
Scarcely may we grasp the pleasure,
Yet, O heaven, I would part
With a thousand such nights’ treasure
For just one with my sweetheart.
1815