Wedding song

Let the fragrance of the acacias be swung about,

and roses be tossed through the window:

you are now the Blossom-fairy!

Your beech-red tresses

chime like fairy-bells to me,

and the wide valley beckons...

come, my dear, we'll go to bed!

To the land of pale colours

we'll go, and purple sheaves

will fan the mute flames.

Hark: faint songs are already vibrating,

the moon unfolds its snowy wings;

fervidly, with frosty limbs,

we'll go hand in hand to bed.

Gentle modesty, gliding so shyly,

lightly spreading its rosy wings,

covers your eyes and blankets you.

Cymbals and horns are resounding in the park,

and Venus beckons through the window;

now we must let ribbons and silks fall.

Come, my dear, we'll go to bed.