About my neck is wound
Arnold Franz Walter Schoenberg
About my neck is wound
A bloom-white arm.
It rests on my mouth
A Spring young and warm.
I wander as in a dream,
As tho' my eyes were veiled.
With your love you have
Filled all my world.
The world about us seems dead,
Only we two alone,
Serenaded by nightingales,
In the blooming rose-grove.