Good evening, dearest moon, to thee

Good evening, dearest moon, to thee!

Why look'st thou so merrily down on me?

Now speak, nor let me my brain be tasking;

Thou hast, I am sure, a gift for the asking,

A message from my belov'd.

How should I bring a gift to thee?

No treasure of thine was left with me:

And with no message can I be laden,

Since for vain prattle of wife or maiden

Nothing at all care I.

Thou art not, gentle moon, to blame!

I would not tell thee my darling's name;

For, did'st thou look in her eyes so bright,

The rest of the world would lose thy light,

Thou would'st shine for her alone.