Joseph Freiherr von Eichendorff (1788–1857)

THE STARS were so golden and glistening;

I stood by the window alone,

To songs of the post-horn listening,

O’er silent moorland blown.

My heart within me was burning.

“To travel—ah, what delight!”

I thought in my secret yearning,

In the glorious summer night.

Two merry youths were walking

By the slope of yonder hill.

I heard their singing and talking,

When all about was still:

Of woodlands murmuring mildly,

Ravines from the dizziest height,

Of waterfalls that wildly

Pour into the forest’s night.

They sang of marble shining,

Of garden walls o’er-grown,

Where vines are rampantly twining,

Of moon-lit palaces lone,

Where maids at the windows are rousing

The music from lutes with delight,

Where murmuring fountains are drowsing

In the glorious summer night.