I know not what shall still happen?
There is twilight already in the damp vale,
And ominously the bats fly
Around the old city wall;
At the mound of shards it becomes desolate and still,
I believe that the old hostess already
 Wishes to close the tavern.

I hear an owlet screaming over yonder
Where the cypresses mourn on the tombs,
Mists from the Campagna waft in,
The gate and walls stand shrouded;
There is a surging and swelling as of a legion of ghosts
About the Pyramid of Cestius,
 What might the dead want?

Now a light flickers and flames about the mountain,
The grey clouds scatter;
With a jealous, yellow face
The full moon rises.
It shines so garishly, it shines so wanly,
It shines right into the middle of my wine glass;
 That cannot portend anything good.

And he who was forced to part from his beloved,
To him she only becomes dearer,
And he who sits about too long in the night air
In Rome, gets a fever.
The hostess is already extinguishing the lamps --
Good night!  I'm going home,
 I'll pay the bill tomorrow.