THE SONG OF THE ELF

THE SONG OF THE ELF

after the German of Eduard Mörike

One village night the watchman called:

"Twelfth hour!"

A small elf slept in the wood and snored-

Around the twelfth hour-

The "elf hour" reached his ears, thought he,

"The nightingale is calling me

From valley depths- or else the high elves call."

He rubbed sleep from his eyes. Alone

He set out from his snail-shell home;

And he was like a drunken rover-

His night nap was not fully over.

So tippertap, his hobbling trail,

Through hazel wood, went down the vale,

Slipped by a thick wall in the night,

And glow worms sat there, light on light.
"What are all these small, bright windows here?

A wedding's on within, it's clear,

And by their meal the small folk sit;

They're in the hall enjoying it.

I'd like a small peep at it all."

-Oops, he struck his head on hard, stone wall!

Dear elf, is that enough for you?

Cuckoo! Cuckoo!