In the same year that Hille’s work appeared in print a lesser lyrist, Ernst Stadler, then only twenty, published in _Das Magazin für Literatur_ a poetic drama, “Freundinnen.”[43] It presents the culmination of an ardent friendship between Sylvia and Bianca, one fifteen, the other eighteen, in their mutual awareness of passion under the spell of a full summer moon, but it does not have specific lesbian implications. A second woman poet, more restrained than Madeleine, is Toni Schwabe, whose _Komm kühle Nacht_ appeared in 1909. Its first group of “Lieder” celebrates the loss of a male lover remembered with bitterness, for his ruthless passion threatened the girl’s life and destroyed her love. The poet sees ahead no feminine happiness, no home or children—a brief cradle song speaks of a child abandoned to others’ care while the singer roams the world, a slave to desire—but only ‘a mad riot of roses and dancing’ and the brief ecstasy that comes with night and dies at dawn. (Dowson’s _Cynara_, written in the nineties, “I have ... gone with the wind, Flung roses, roses, riotously with the throng Dancing ...” comes inevitably to mind.) A later group of sonnets are like Louise Labé’s in concealing the sex of the beloved, but are aggressive and masculine in mood. A “Lied der Bilitis an Mnasidika” borrows the most fervent of Louÿs’s lesbian episodes, and some pages of “Translations from the Danish,” said to be of Schwabe’s own composition, begin with two “Songs to Lenore.” The first poem in “Die Stadt mit lichten Türmen” is a dream in which a young count bears the singer into a beech wood and tries futilely to possess her, never divining that only her ‘smiling pity’ prevents her from dealing him a death blow. Probably the most typical mood of the whole volume is represented in “Nie traf ich einen,” in which she says that ‘no one has ever curbed me with the bridle of love. Where I was weaker I refused myself altogether.... I have caressed only those who craved my love and wanted my violence, and them I have contrived to satisfy and to make dependent upon me. Me—me alone no one can succor, for though I have known every kind of love, no one has ever truly possessed me, made me surrender.’[44] This is exactly the mood of Rachilde’s and Schreiner’s heroines and of Barney’s poems.