I dance after you, I follow even faint traces lonely. Where are you? Give me your hand! Or your finger only!
Here are caves and thickets: we shall go astray!- Halt! Stand still! See you not owls and bats in fluttering fray?
You bat! you owl! you would play me foul? Where are we? From the dogs have you learned thus to bark and howl.
You gnash on me sweetly with little white teeth; your evil eyes shoot out upon me, your curly little mane from underneath!
This is a dance over stock and stone: I am the hunter,- will you be my hound, or my chamois anon?
Now beside me! And quickly, wickedly springing! Now up! And over!- Alas! I have fallen myself overswinging!
Oh, see me lying, you arrogant one, and imploring grace! Gladly would I walk with you- in some lovelier place!
-In the paths of love, through bushes variegated, quiet, trim! Or there along the lake, where gold-fishes dance and swim!
You are now a-weary? There above are sheep and sun-set stripes: is it not sweet to sleep- the shepherd pipes?
You are so very weary? I carry you there; let just your arm sink! And are you thirsty- I should have something; but your mouth would not like it to drink!-
-Oh, that cursed, nimble, supple serpent and lurking-witch! Where are you gone? But in my face do I feel through your hand, two spots and red blotches itch!
I am verily weary of it, ever your sheepish shepherd to be. You witch, if I have hitherto sung to you, now shall you- cry to me!
To the rhythm of my whip shall you dance and cry! I forget not my whip?- Not I!"-
