Ondine

Listen, listen! It is Ondine who brushes the dia-
mond panes of your window with these drops of
water lit by the pale rays of the moon; and here, in
a shimmering gown, is the lady of the castle, who
from her balcony contemplates the starlit night
and the beautiful sleeping lake.

Each wave is a water sprite swimming in the
current, every current is a path which winds to-
ward my palace, and my palace is built of flowing
liquid, at the bottom of the lake, within the trian-
gle of earth, air, and fire.

Listen, listen! My father beats the babbling
water with a green alder branch, and my sisters
caress the cool clumps of grass, water lilies, and
gladioli with their arms of foam, or make fun of
the old bearded willow fishing with rod and line.

With her whispered song, she begged me to put
her ring on my finger, to become the husband of
a water sprite, to visit her palace, and to become
the king of the lakes.

And as I told her I love a mortal, sulky, and
pouting, she shed a few tears, then bursting out
laughing, she disappeared in a shower of clear
water droplets which ran down my blue windows.