Translation by William Archer and Mary Morrison.
MARGIT. [Ever more wildly.]
At midnight's hour Sweet were our sleep in my lonely bower;-- And if death should come with the dawn, I trow 'Twere sweet to die so;--what thinkest thou?
You are sick!
MARGIT. [Bursting into laughter.]
Ha, ha!--Let me laugh! 'Tis good To laugh when the heart is in laughing mood!
I see that you still have the same wild soul As of old--
MARGIT. [With sudden seriousness.]
Nay, let not that vex your mind, 'Tis only at midnight it mocks control; By day I am timid as any hind.