Do I not hear the gate?
 Did not the bolt rattle?
 No, it was the wind blowing,
 whirring through the poplars.
 
 O adorn yourself, you green-leafed roof,
 you should receive the radiant, graceful girl!
 You branches, build a shady dwelling,
 to enclose her secretly in lovely night;
 and all you flattering breezes, awake
 and jest and play with her rosy cheeks
 when its fair burden, lightly moving,
 the tender foot carries to the throne of Love.
 
 Quiet - what is slipping through the thicket
 rustling with hasty running?
 No, it was only a bird, driven out from startlement
 from the bushes.
 
 O extinguish your torch, Day!
 Arrive, O sacred Night, with your lovely silence!
 Surround us with your purple-red veil,
 entangle us in your mysterious branches!
 The bliss of love flees from the listening ear -
 it flees the rays of immodest things!
 Only Hesperus alone, the silent one,
 may, with steady gaze, become her confidant.
 
 Did not someone call softly from afar,
 like whispering voices?
 No, it is a swan, floating in a circle
 on the silvery pond.
 
 My ear is surrounded by a harmonious flow of sound:
 the spring stream falling with pleasant rushing,
 the flowers bowing beneath the kiss of the West Wind;
 and all beings I see exchanging bliss.
 The grape beckons, the peach invites us to relish it,
 lusciously ripening behind the leaves;
 the air, diving into a spicy tide,
 drinks the glow from my hot cheeks.
 
 Do I not hear steps echoing?
 Was there not a rustle on the leafy path over there?
 A fruit fell there,
 heavy from its own weight.
 
 The flaming eye of day breaks itself
 in sweet death, and its colors fade;
 boldly, in the lovely twilight,
 blossoms are already opening that hate its glow.
 Silently the moon lifts its radiant face,
 and the world melts away in large, peaceful masses.
 The girdle is released from its charm,
 and everything of beauty appears before me naked.
 
 Do I not see something shimmering white over there?
 Was it not a silk robe shining?
 No, it is the shimmering of a pillar
 against the dark wall of yew.
 
 O! yearning heart, enthrall me no more,
 playing with sweet, phantom images!
 The arm that wishes to embrace them is empty!
 No shadowy happiness can cool this bosom.
 O! lead to me my beloved -
 let me only feel her tender hand
 or see the shadow of the edge of her cloak!
 And into life will step this hollow dream.
 
 And softly, as if from the heights of heaven,
 the hour of happiness arrives:
 She had approached unseen
 and awakened her friend with kisses.