We are washed, we are ’nointed, stark naked are we:
But our toil and our pain is forever in vain.
Both Chorusses. The wind is still, the stars are fled,
The melancholy moon is dead;
The magic notes, like spark on spark,
Drizzle, whistling through the dark.
Come away!
Voices below. Stay, oh stay!
Meph. What thronging, dashing, raging, rustling;
What whispering, babbling, hissing, bustling;