In the quiet meadowy valley

In the quiet meadowy valley

I went for a lonely walk,

When suddenly

Humid night enshrouded me.

The sun had set,

The red glow of sunset had faded,

The last golden sparks

Had spewed forth and smouldered away.

The nightingale resoundingly

Sang the fields round about to sleep;

The flowers all slept,

Only I watched in the valley.

Not far, from out of a house

That seemed to be built of scents,

As quiet as a hermit's cell,

Gazing out from the darkness of the trees;

I hear a lovely chiming

Melodiously through the night,

Singing of kisses and joys,

And the power of young love. --

And, as on gentle waves

A boat is drawn by a breath of the breeze,

I feel my heart drawn

Thither, where the song calls me.

And before me on the road

A golden gleam dances brightly,

To be my guide

Through the convoluted pathways.

But when I approach more closely,

The lovely gleam fades,

The song dies away -- I stand

Alone on the desolate heath.

My pathway has disappeared,

The house has vanished,

I am held in bondage by the night;

The guiding light -- it was extinguished.

I was deceived by a gleaming

That enticed me from afar!

The glimmer was a will-o'-the-wisp.

I thought it was a star! --