THIS mad carnival of loving,

This wild orgy of the flesh,

Ends at last and we two, sobered,

Look at one another, yawning.

Emptied the inflaming cup

That was filled with sensuous potions,

Foaming, almost running over--

Emptied is the flaming cup.

All the violins are silent

That impelled our feet to dancing,

To the giddy dance of passion--

Silent are the violins.

All the lanterns now are darkened

That once poured their streaming brilliance

On the masquerades and murmurs--

Darkened now are all the lanterns.

HEINRICH HEINE