Tap, tap, tap—Death rhythmically,
Taps a tomb with his heel,
Death at midnight plays a gigue,
Tap, tap, tap, on his violin.
The Winter wind blows, the night is dark,
The lime-trees groan aloud;
White skeletons flit across the gloom,
Running and leaping beneath their huge shrouds
Tap, tap, tap, everyone’s astir,
You hear the bones of the dancers knock,
A lustful couple sits down on the moss,
As if to savor past delights.
Tap, tap, tap, Death continues,
Endlessly scraping his shrill violin
A veil has slipped! The dancer’s *****!
Her partner clasps her amorously.
They say she’s a baroness or marchioness,
And the callow gallant a poor Cartwright.
Good God! And now she’s giving herself,
As though the bumpkin were a baron!
Tap, tap, tap, what a saraband!
Circles of corpses all holding hands!
Tap, tap, tap, in the throng you can see
King and peasant dancing together!
But shh! Suddenly the dance is ended,
They jostle and take flight—the cock has crowed…
Ah! Nocturnal beauty shines on the poor!
And long live death and equality!
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