(BY THE NECKAR AT HEIDELBERG)
|Silent is the moonlight pale,|
The boughs of all the trees are still,
|The music-maker of the vale|
Hushed, and the green robes of the hill;
|Fallen into a swoon creation|
Sleeps in the bosom of the night,
|And from this hush such magic grows,|
No more now Neckar’s current flows;
|Silent the starry caravan moves|
Onward, no bell tinkling its flight,
|Silent the hills and streams and groves,|
All Nature lost in contemplation.
|Oh heart, you too be silent: keep|
Your grief hugged close, and sleep.
Translated by: V.G. Kiernan