New poem

Posted on inPoetry

A Nightsong of Eichendorff

I wandered late by rock and tree,

the moon crept out so secretly

behind its cloak of cloud;

and here and there in the dark vale

the fleeting moonbeams bleached ghost-pale

a nightingale sang loud.

Far off, the torrent’s silver song

ran over stone unseen, nightlong,

transmuting the moonlight.

My thoughts, mercurial, argentine,

seemed more the woods and hills’ than mine

in the phantasmal night.