The wine that one drinks with the eyes
Pours nightly from the moon in waves.

And a spring flood overflows
The silent horizon.

Desires, thrilling and sweet
Swim numberless in the flood.

The wine that one drinks with the eyes
Spills nightly from the moon in waves.

The poet, urged on by his devotions
Is drunk on the holy beverage,

Ecstatic, he turns toward heaven
Headlong staggers, sucks and slurps

The wine that one drinks with the eyes.

II. Colombine
Moonlight ’ s pale blossoms,
White wonder-roses

Bloom in July evenings--
Oh, if I coul d pluck just one!

To ease my anxious suffering
I seek along dark streams

Moonlight ’ s pale blossoms,
White wonder-roses.

All my longing would be stilled
If I could, like in a secret fairy tale,

So blissfully softly, scatter
On your brown hair

Moonlight ’ s pale blossoms.

III. The Dandy
With a fantastic light beam
The moon lights the crystal bottles

On the black, high holy washstand
Of the silent dandy from Bergamo.

In a resonant bronze basin
The water laughs bright, metallic

With a fantastic light beam
The moon lights the crystal bottles

Pierrot of the waxen countenance
Stands musing and thinks: how shall he make-up today?

Shoves aside the rouge and the Orient green
And paints his face in the noble style

With a fantastic moonbeam.

IV. A Pale Washer Woman

A pale washer woman
Washes nighttime ’ s faded clothes

Naked, silver white arms
Stretch down into the flood.

Winds creep through the clearing
Gently ruffling the stream.

A pale washer woman
Washes nighttime ’ s faded clothes.

And the gentle maid of heaven
Flattered tenderly by twigs

Spreads across the dark meadows
Her linen woven of light--

A pale washer woman.

V. Chopin’s Waltz

Like a pallid drop of blood
Dyes a sick man ’ s lips,

So there rests in these notes
A charm that craves annihilation.

Chords of wild pleasure disturb
Despair ’ s icy dream--

Like a pallid drop of blood
Dyes a sick man ’ s lips.

Hot and exultant, sweet and languishing
Melancholy somber waltzes,

I can’t get you out of my head!
You stick to my thoughts

Like a pallid drop of blood.

VI. Madonna
Stand, o mother of all sorrows
On the altar of my verses!

Blood from your empty breasts
The sword ’ s fury has spilled.

Your eternally fresh wounds
Are like eyes, red and open.

Stand, o mother of all sorrows
On the altar of my verses!

In your emaciated hands
You hold your son ’ s corpse

To show to all mankind--
But the gaze of men looks away from

You, o mother of all sorrows.

VII. The Sick Moon

You gloomy, deathsick moon there on the sky ’ s black pillow,

Your gaze, gross with fever
Enchants me like a strange melody.

Of insatiable love-sorrow
You die. Of longing, buried deep.

You gloomy deathsick moon
There on the sky ’ s black pillow.

The lover, who in ecstasy
Skips, carefree to his beloved,

Is amused by your beams ’ play--
Your pale, pain-borne blood,

You gloomy deathsick moon.

VIII. Night

Dark, black giant moths
Killed the brightness of the sun.

A closed book of spells,
The horizon settles--hushed.

From the mists of lost depths
Wafts a scent--remembrance murdered!

Dark, black giant moths
Killed the brightness of the sun.

And from the sky earthwards
Sinking on heavy wings

Invisible monsters
Descend into human hearts

Dark, black giant moths.

IX. Prayer to Pierrot

Pierrot! My laughter -
I ’ ve forgotten it!

Splendour ’ s image
Dissolved - dissolved!

A black flag flaps
At me now from the mast.

Pierrot! My laughter
I ’ ve forgotten it!

Give me again,
Veterinarian of the soul,

Snowman of lyric,
Duke of the moon,

Pierrot--my laughter!

X. Theft

Red, princely rubies,
Bloody drops of ancient glory,

Sleep in the coffins
Down in the grave vaults.

Nights, with his drinking buddies
Pierrot descends--to rob

Red, princely rubies
Bloody drops of ancient glory.

But –there --their hair stands on end
Pale fear freezes them in place:

Through the shadows--like eyes--
Stare from the caskets

Red, princely rubies.

XI. Red Mass
For a hideous Communion,
By the dazzling gleam of gold,

By flickering candlelight,
Approaching the altar - Pierrot!

His hand, the annointed,
Rips up the priestly vestments

For a hideous Communion
By the dazzling gleam of gold.

With a gesture of benediction
He shows the terrified souls

The dripping red Host:
His heart--in bloody fingers--

For a hideous Communion.

XII. Gallows Song
The withered whore
With stringy neck
Will be his last
Lover.
In his brains
Stuck like a nail

The withered whore
With stringy neck.
Skinny as a pine tree,
On her neck a little braid—
Lustfully will she
Hug the rogue ’ s neck,
The withered whore!

XIII. Beheading

The moon, a shining scimitar
On a black silk cushion,

Ghastly huge--it slices down
Through the sorrow-dark night.

Pierrot stumbles about
And stares up in deathly fear

At the moon, a shining scimitar
On a black silk cushion.

His knees chatter under him,
Swooning, he collapses in a faint.

He thinks he hears whizzing punitive down
On his sinner ’ s neck slicing

The moon, a shining scimitar.

XIV. The Crosses
Holy crosses are the verses
On which the poet mutely bleeds,

Stricken blind by the vultures,
Flapping swarm of ghosts!

In their corpses swords have reveled
On parade in bloody scarlet!

Holy crosses are the verses
On which the poet mutely bleeds.

Dead the head--stiff the ringlets--
Far the scattered noise of rabble.

Slowly the sun sets,
A red king ’ s crown.--

Holy crosses are the verses!

XV. Homesick

Sweetly plaintive--a crystal sighing
From an old Italian pantomime,

Tinkles to us: how Pierrot ’ s become
So wooden, so fashionably sentimental.

And it chimes through his heart ’ s desert,
Chimes subdued through his senses again,

Sweetly plaintive--a crystal sighing
From an old Italian pantomime,

So Pierrot forgets his dreamy faces!
By the moon ’ s faint firelight,

By the light sea ’ s flood--longing strays
Bravely upwards, to its native sky

Sweetly plaintive--a crystal sighing.

XVI. Mean Trick!
In Cassander ’ s shiny skull
While his cries shriek through the air,

Pierrot, the hypocrite, bores
Tenderly,--with a drill!

Then he tamps down with his thumb
His genuine Turkish tobacco

In Cassander ’ s shiny skull
While his cries shriek through the air!

Then he twists a perfumed cherry pipestem
Into the glossy baldspot

And comfortably smokes and puffs on
His genuine Turkish tobacco

In Cassander ’ s shiny skull.

XVII. Parody

Knitting needles, bright and gleaming,
In her gray hair,

The granny sits muttering,
There in a small red dress.

She waits in the arbor,
She loves Pierrot painfully,

Knitting needles, bright and gleaming
In her gray hair.

Then suddenly--hark!--a whisper!
A wind breath giggles softly:

The moon, that nasty tease
Imitates with his rays--

Knitting needles, bright and gleaming.

XVIII. The Moonspot
A white spot from the bright moon
On the back of his black coat,

Thus Pierrot walks in mild evening
Searching for luck and adventure.

Suddenly he feels something on his suit,
He looks himself over and finds sure enough--

A white spot from the bright moon
On the back of his black coat.

Wait! He thinks: that ’ s a spot of plaster!
Wipes and wipes, but--can ’ t get it out!

And so he goes, swollen with fury, farther,
Rubs and rubs until early morning--

A white spot from the bright moon.

XIX. Serenade

With a grotesque giant bow
Pierrot scrapes on his viola,

Like the stork on one leg,
He sadly plucks a pizzicato.

Suddenly Cassander appears--frenzied
By the nocturne virtuoso--

With a grotesque giant bow
Pierrot saws on his viola.

Fast he throws down the viola:
With his delicate left hand

He grasps the bald head by the collar--
Dreamily he plays on the bald head

With a grotesque giant bow.

XX. Journey Home

The moonbeam is the rudder,
A water lily serves as boat:

So Pierrot sails south
Wafted by a fair wind.

The stream hums deep scales
And rocks the light dory.

The moonbeam is the rudder,
A water lily serves as boat.

To Bergamo, his homeland,
Pierrot now returns;

Gently gleams in the east
The green daybreak.

--The moonbeam is the rudder.

XXI. O Ancient Fragrance
O ancient fragrance from fairy tales,
Ravish my senses again!

A crazy swarm of tricks
Buzzes through the easy air.

A happy impulse brings me to
Those joys I ’ ve long looked down on:

O ancient fragrance from fairy tales
Ravish me again:

All my ill humor I release,
Out my sun-framed window

I see the clear and lovely world
And my dreams travel blissful distances. . .

O ancient fragrance from fairy tales!