Often, when it got dark, from the pond the charming water-nymph lifted
her upper body; water rippled quietly from her reedy hair.
Moon-like, her white breast illuminated the thicket
of alders and willows all around, shining brighter than the moon,
and there glimmered damp her eyes like pearls from the sea.
Nothing troubled her, who has seen everything from the beginning.
Marvelously then rang her sweet, crystal voice,
light as air. And she sang of the magnificent wonders of the creation,
sang of fate's power and the dark mystery of death.
Sometimes her magic songs rang like tones of the harp,
sometimes like the tender song of the complaining nightingale.
But nobody heard the solitary one; dreamily listened
only the holy Night, and the eternal stars listened.