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Pierrot Lunaire Arnold Schoenberg. I. Moonstruck The wine that one drinks with the eyes Pours nightly from the moon in waves. And a spring flood overflows The silent horizon. Desires, thrilling and sweet Swim numberless in the flood.
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I. MoonstruckThe wine that one drinks with the eyesPours nightly from the moon in waves.
The wine that one drinks with the eyesSpills nightly from the moon in waves.
The poet, urged on by his devotionsIs drunk on the holy beverage,
Ecstatic, he turns toward heavenHeadlong staggers, sucks and slurps
All my longing would be stilledIf I could, like in a secret fairy tale,
III. The DandyWith a fantastic light beamThe moon lights the crystal bottles
On the black, high holy washstandOf the silent dandy from Bergamo.
With a fantastic light beamThe moon lights the crystal bottles
Pierrot of the waxen countenance Stands musing and thinks: how shall he make-up today?
Shoves aside the rouge and the Orient greenAnd paints his face in the noble style
So there rests in these notesA charm that craves annihilation.