"My heart pounded, quick! to the horse!
It was done before I could think;
evening was already cradling the earth
and night hung upon the mountains:
already the oak stood clothed in mist,
a towering giant there,
where darkness from the bushes
peered with a hundred dark eyes!

The moon from a hill of cloud
looked pitifully down through the haze,
the wind stirred with gentle wings
murmuring eerily into my ear;
night created a thousand horrors;
but fresh and cheery was my mood:
in my veins, what fire!
in my heart, what passion!

You I saw and gentle joy
flowed from your sweet gaze to mine,
my heart was entirely at your side,
and every breath was for you.
Rose-colored spring
surrounded your lovely face,
and tenderness for me - oh you Gods!
I had hoped for this, but I do not deserve it!

But alas, already with the morning sun,
parting strangles my heart:
in your kisses, what bliss!
in your eyes, what pain!
I left, and you stood and looked down at the ground,
and then gazed after me with wet eyes:
and yet, what happiness to be loved!
And to love, Gods, what good fortune!" (Goethe)