By Gustav Fröding
A tune as from small violins -
hark - through the hazel and birch go the rings.
The moonlit meadows are eerie bright,
the woods are as dark as the darkest night.
Ti ta! Ti ta! Ti ta!
Look, glimpses of gauze and of silk!
Look, bosoms and necks as white as milk,
flitting and flying their light-footed goes
a whispering waltz on winged shoes.
Who's swirling around in her airy ball
at the midnight hour in silvery hall?
Ti ta! Ti ta! Titania!
Image by John Bauer ©.
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