O moon, large golden summer moon, 
Hanging between the linden trees, 
Which in the intermittent breeze 
Beat with the rhythmic pulse of June! 

O night-air, scented through and through 
With honey-coloured flower of lime, 
Sweet now as in that other time 
When all my heart was sweet as you! 

The sorcery of this breathing bloom 
Works like enchantment in my brain, 
Till, shuddering back to life again, 
My dead self rises from its tomb. 

And, lovely with the love of yore, 
Its white ghost haunts the moon-white ways; 
But, when it meets me face to face, 
Flies trembling to the grave once more.