O night! do I not see my love fluttering out among the
What is that little black thing I see there
in the white?
Loud! loud! loud!
Loud I call to you, my love!
High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves,
must know who is here, is here,
You must know who I am, my love.
What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow?
O it is the shape, the shape of my
O moon do not keep her from me any longer.
Land! land! O land!
Whichever way I turn, O I think you could give me my mate
back again if you only
For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever way I look.
O rising stars!
Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise with some
O throat! O trembling throat!
Sound clearer through the atmosphere!
Pierce the woods, the earth,
listening to catch you must be the one I want.
Shake out carols!
Solitary here, the night's carols!
Carols of lonesome love! death's carols!
that lagging, yellow, waning moon!
O under that moon where she droops almost down into the sea!
reckless despairing carols.
But soft! sink low!
Soft! let me just murmur,
And do you wait a moment you husky-nois'd sea,
I believe I heard my mate responding to me,
So faint, I must be still, be still to listen,
But not altogether
still, for then she might not come immediately
Hither my love!
Here I am! here!
With this just-sustain'd note I announce myself to you,
This gentle call is
for you my love, for you.
Do not be decoy'd elsewhere,
That is the whistle of the wind, it is not my voice,
That is the fluttering, the
fluttering of the spray,
Those are the shadows of leaves.
O darkness! O in vain!
O I am very sick and sorrowful.
O brown halo in the sky near the moon, drooping upon the sea!
O troubled reflection in the sea!
O throbbing heart!
And I singing uselessly, uselessly all the night.
O past! O happy life! O songs of joy!
In the air, in the woods, over fields,
Loved! loved! loved! loved!
But my mate no more, no more with me!
We two together no more.
The aria sinking,
All else continuing, the stars shining,
The winds blowing, the notes of the bird continuous
With angry moans the fierce old mother incessantly moaning,
On the sands of Paumanok's shore
gray and rustling,
The yellow half-moon enlarged, sagging down, drooping, the
face of the sea almost
The boy ecstatic, with his bare feet the waves, with his hair the
in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last
The aria's meaning, the ears, the
soul, swiftly depositing,
The strange tears down the cheeks coursing,
The colloquy there, the trio, each
The undertone, the savage old mother incessantly crying,
To the boy's soul's questions sullenly
timing, some drown'd
To the outsetting bard.
Demon or bird! (said the boy's soul,)
Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? or is it really to me?
that was a child, my tongue's use sleeping, now I have
Now in a moment I know what I am
for, I awake,
And already a thousand singers, a thousand songs, clearer,
louder and more sorrowful than
A thousand warbling echoes have started to life within me,
never to die.
O you singer solitary, singing by yourself, projecting me,
O solitary me listening, never more shall I cease
Never more shall I escape, never more the reverberations,
Never more the cries of
unsatisfied love be absent from me,
Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before