Whence your silken gown, my maid?
⁠Ah, you'd fain be haughty,
Yet perchance you've proved a jade
⁠With some satyr naughty!

Waiting long, the lovelorn wight
⁠Is filled with rage and poison:
Even so on sultry night
⁠Toadstools grow in foison.

Pinching sore, in devil's mood,
⁠Love doth plague my crupper:
Truly I can eat no food:
⁠Farewell, onion-supper!

Seaward sinks the moon away,
⁠The stars are wan, and flare not:
Dawn approaches, gloomy, grey.
⁠Let Death come! I care not!

Souls that lack determination
⁠Rouse my wrath to white-hot flame!
All their glory's but vexation,
⁠All their praise but self-contempt and shame!

Since I baffle their advances.
⁠Will not clutch their leading-string.
They would wither me with glances
⁠Bitter-sweet, with hopeless envy sting.

Let them with fell curses shiver.
⁠Curl their lip the livelong day!
Seek me as they will, forever
⁠Helplessly their eyes shall go astray!