Within the heart 'tis still; Sleep each wild thought encages: Now stirs a wicked will, Would see how madness rages, And cries: Wild spirit awake! Loud cymbals catch the cry, And back its echoes shake; And, shouting peals of laughter, The trumpet rushes after, And cries: Wild spirit awake! Amid them flute-tones fly, Like arrows, keen and numberless; And with bloodhound yell Pipes the onset swell; And violins and violoncellos, Creaking, clattering, Shrieking, shattering; And horns whence thunder bellows; To leave the victim slumberless, And drag forth prisoned madness, And cruelly murder all quiet and innocent gladness. What will be the end of this commotion? Where the shore to this turmoiling ocean? What seeks the tossing throng, As it wheels and whirls along? On! on! the lustres Like hellstars bicker: Let us twine in closer clusters, On! on! ever closer and quicker! How the silly things throb, throb amain! Hence all quiet! Hither riot! Peal more proudly, Squeal more loudly, Ye cymbals, ye trumpets! bedull all pain, Till it laugh again. Thou beckonest to me, beauty's daughter; Smiles ripple o'er thy lips, And o'er thine eye's blue water; O let me breathe on thee, Ere parted hence we flee, Ere aught that light eclipse! I know that beauty's flowers soon wither: Those lips, within whose rosy cells Thy spirit warbles its sweet spells, Death's clammy kiss ere long will press together. I know, that face so fair and full Is but a masquerading skull: But hail to thee skull so fair and so fresh! Why should I weep and whine and wail, That what blooms now must soon grow pale, And that worms must batten on that sweet flesh? Let me laugh but today and tomorrow, And what care I for sorrow, While thus on the waves of the dance by each other we sail? Now thou art mine, And I am thine: And what though pain and trouble wait To seize thee at the gate, And sob, and tear, and groan, and sigh, Stand ranged in state On thee to fly, Blithely let us look and cheerily On death that grins so drearily! What would grief with us, or anguish? They are foes that we know how to vanquish. I press thine answering fingers, Thy look upon me lingers, Or the fringe of thy garment will waft me a kiss: Thou rollest on in light; I fall back into night; Even despair is bliss. From this delight, From this wild revel's surge Perchance there may emerge Foul jealousy, and scorn, and envious spite. But this is our glory and pride; When thee I despise, I turn but my eyes, And the fair one beside thee will welcome my gaze, And she is my bride! O happy, happy maze! Or shall it be her neighbour? Whose eyes, like a sabre, Flash and pierce, Their glance is so fierce.