Mysterious moon!
In an hour you rise –
and golden everything
with African fantasies.
I stand with the lyre
in the darkness of the yard.
The King’s daughter in the tower
throws stars to me.
The wood lake smiles suddenly –
Oh, pearls, gold and silver! –
the capes lay
as eternal memories.
I stroke the stones of the roof with the hand
and laugh mockingly:
Day, what more do you have to add
on top of the song’s night?