Clear on the night of my spirit,
To me shines the glance of a star,
It is she! My heart's little maiden!
From her glance gleams something afar,
Of victory, deathless, eternal-
Something that musing, misgiving,
Pierces the essence of being!

It cannot be! It cannot be!
She lives- soon she will waken; straightway
Will ope her pretty eyes,- glad she
Will prattle merry, laughing gay!
And when in tears beholding me-
Will smiling, kissing, cry consoling,
'Papa- it is but playing- See!
I live,- yes! Leave off mourning!'
But cold and mute she lies, alas!
And motionless.

Now in her coffin she lies,
Silent amid scented flowers-
Ah what mute spirits in white
O'er her corpse circle and hover?
Are they the visions of bliss?
Are they all spirits of hope?
That during life lured her on-

Those to whom secretly oft
She had entrusted her soul?
They that accompanied her e'er,
Faithful in forest and field?
Silent they circle my child,
In tearful anguish embraced-
Yet little actress she lies,
Smiling, closed lashes beneath;
See, she is laughing in truth-
thou most merciless Death!