Текст оригинала на английском языке
Death and a dirge at midnight; Yet never a soul in the house Heard anything more than the throb and beat Of a beautiful waltz of Strauss. Dead, dead, dead, and staring, With a ghastly smile on its face; But the world saw only laughing eyes And roses, and billows of lace. Floating and whirling together, Into the beautiful night, How little you dreamed of the ghastly thing I was hiding away from your sight. Meeting your dark eyes’ splendour, Feeling your warm, sweet breath, How could you know that my passionate heart Had died a horrible death? Died in its fever and fervour, Died in its beautiful bloom; And that waltz of Strauss was a funeral dirge, Leading the way to the tomb. But you held my hand at parting, And I smiled back a gay good night; And you never knew of the ghastly corpse I was hiding away from your sight. Yet whenever I hear the Danube-- Under its pulsing strain, I catch the wail of the funeral dirge, And my heart dies over again.
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