One Summer’s night I sat alone,
As I had often done before,
Enthralled by moonlight dancing,
hither thither on my chamber floor.
I heeded not the mournful wail
of hunter borne on feathered wing,
That rent the air: a false brocade
was then unmade and tattered laid,
Yet then I stirred no doubt disturbed
On dreamy paths where I had strayed;
On paths that mortals seldom tread,
Midst regions steeped in ancient dread,
Of Lethe waters bittersweet: the long lament of Acheron,
And who shall hear more sad a song,
as that I heard upon those shores,
And struck with awe I gazed upon the precipice,
The dark abyss of deep despair, I am aware.
Yet who shall play to soothe the beast,
For I know naught of Minstrelsy,
Then how to charm those miserly?
And gain the succour dear to me, on dreamy paths.
Come not in haste lest you shall find,
The torment of a troubled mind
is but a trifle to compare; I shall not fear,
Though close behind, that which I praised.