I know now that the night’s dream
has come to an end.
From the garland the flowers have gone,
what remains is but the thread.
No longer is there the secret look,
the stealthy advance, the play at turning back.
The eyes are there, not in them
love’s obsession.
The arms twined round mine
are now only a bond.

The smile which used to play
round your lips
is no longer to be seen.
No longer is there the attempt
at hide and seek.
The voice which used to send your
heart into a flutter,
and through your body a wave of pleasure
no longer does.
A song no longer brings
tears to the eyes,
which bashfulness tries to hide.

The flute played,
I gave in,
and that was the end.
What remains is a shackle
round my feet -
a noose to hang with.
The abundant night is now past
and its memory can only bring
shame to my heart.
Happines is gone, not its pretence.
What is left behind is but an attempt
at caress without any sense.