Silent is the moonlight pale,
The boughs of all trees are still,
The music maker of the vale; silent
And the green robes of the hills; silent
Fallen into a swoon creation
Sleeps in the bosom of the night,
And from this hush such magic grows,
No more now neckar's current flows;
Silent the starry caravan moves
Onward no bell tinkling it's flight,
Silent the hills and streams and groves,
All nature lost in contemplation
Oh heart, you too be silent : keep
Your grief hugged close, and sleep
