Hyacinths

Music echoes from afar, but here it is silent night,

with slumber-scents breathing from the flowers:

I have always, always thought of you;

I would sleep, but you must dance.

It will not stop, there is no rest -

the candles burn and the fiddles shrill,

the rows of dancers part and come close,

and everyone is flushed - but you are pale.

And you had to dance; the arms of strangers are nestled

at your breast; o endure no more!

I see your white dress fly past,

and your light, delicate form.

And more sweetly streams the scents of night,

and more dreamily, from the chalices of flowers.

I have always, always, thought of you;

I would sleep, but you must dance.