Moonlit skies on this summer's eve,
take me in, though grant me leave;
  I will explore you thoroughly.

    On trodden paths near-forgot,
    a bloodhound's howl, a hunter's shot:
  a late-night symphony.
  And we
    paint the world with all we've got.

      Though everything now strongly glows,
      where we walk, no one knows.
  Nor remains an eternity,
      nor rain, nor calm bellows
  that withers the spirit inside of me.

So away, now, and do perceive
those moonlit skies on a summer's eve;
    whether weather's clear or not,
    whether stars shine bright or not,
onward -- onward! -- in twain we'll cleave
    the lot;
onward -- onward! -- in twain we'll cleave
    the lot
of those who scant believe.