Richard Dehmel (1863–1920)

AND still the roses gleam for me,

The sombre leaves their tremour keep;

Here in the grass I wake from sleep.

I long for thee,

For now the midnight is so deep.

The moon ’s behind the garden gate,

Her light o’erflows the lake with gloss,

And silently the willows wait;

On clover moist my limbs I toss.

And never was my love so great!

So well I ne’er before had known

When I embraced thy shoulder dear,

Thine inmost self felt blindly near,

Why, when my heart had overflown,

Thy moans would rise from inmost fear.

Oh now, oh, hadst thou seen this glow—

The creeping pair of glow-worms’ flame!

Ah, nevermore from thee I’ll go!

I long for thee.

And still the roses gleam for me.