Die Lotosblume ängstigt

The lotus-flower cowers
Under the sun's bright beams;
Humble and bowed with meekness
She waits for the night among dreams.

The Moon, he is her lover,
He wakes her with his gaze;
To him alone she uncovers
The fair flower of her face.

She glows and grows more radiant,
And gazes mutely above;
Breathing and weeping and trembling
With love — and the pain of love.