Beauteous foreign land

The treetops rustle and shiver

as if at this hour

about the half-sunken walls

the old gods are making their rounds.

Here, behind the myrtle trees,

in secretly darkening splendor,

what do you say so murmuringly, as if in a dream,

to me, fantastic night?

The stars glitter down on me

with glowing, loving gazes,

and the distance speaks tipsily,

it seems, of great future happiness.