Johann Wolfgang von Goethe: Все стихи поэта

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THE warder looks down at the mid hour of night,

On the tombs that lie scatter'd below:

The moon fills the place with her silvery light,

And the churchyard like day seems to glow.

When see! first one grave, then another opes wide,

And women and men stepping forth are descried,

In cerements snow-white and trailing.

In haste for the sport soon their ankles they twitch,

Who rides there so late through the night dark and drear?

The father it is, with his infant so dear;

He holdeth the boy tightly clasp'd in his arm,

He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm.

"My son, wherefore seek'st thou thy face thus to hide?"

"Look, father, the Erl-King is close by our side!

Dost see not the Erl-King, with crown and with train?"

"My son, 'tis the mist rising over the plain."