The elfking

Shadows falling on fir tree and on stone,

Fir-trees and stones and shadows dark and lone,

Embroidered with silver and gold.

Quiet on a stone in deepest shadow lost,

Sits there a boy as pallid as a ghost,

and moveth his bow o'er the strings.

Nixie's gold harp a merry dance doth play,

Harpers fast follow, till cometh on his way,

The Elfking grey bearded and old.

My boy was but the spirit of a dream;

Nixie the torment of a mountain stream

That sprinkled its foam on my face.