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Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - The Hunter`s Even-Song
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THE plain with still and wand`ring feet,

And gun full-charged, I tread,
And hov`ring see thine image sweet,

Thine image dear, o`er head.

In gentle silence thou dost fare

Through field and valley dear;
But doth my fleeting image ne`er

To thy mind`s eye appear?

His image, who, by grief oppress`d,

Roams through the world forlorn,
And wanders on from east to west,

Because from thee he`s torn?

When I would think of none but thee,

Mine eyes the moon survey;
A calm repose then steals o`er me,

But how, `twere hard to say.
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