Gottfried Keller (1819–1890)

NOT a wing was beating in the night,

Dazzling white and peaceful lay the snow,

Not a cloud hung o’er the starry light,

Frozen was the lake—all calm below.

There a tree was growing from the deep,

In the ice its crown was frozen fast;

And the mermaid climbed the branches steep,

Peering through the greenish ice at last.

There I stood upon the glassy sheet—

Glass that barred me from that depth so dark;

Well I could, beneath my very feet,

All her white and wondrous beauty mark.

At the hard, hard roof, from place to place,

Still she gropes, from stifled anguish sore;

I shall not forget that dusky face,

In my mind it lingers evermore!