The drummer sounds the summons to our room,
The light-encircled spiel-platz soon lies bare
And desolate, except where buildings loom,
Limning their shadows on the vacant square.
A gramophone grinds out a raucous song,
And boisterous laughs resound along the halls;
Now comes the muffling silence, slowly throng
The multitude of stars where darkness falls.

Inside the room stentorian breathings sound,
Or preparations made for nightly rest;
Without the windows silence sleeps profound;
Now comes the moon above the far hill's crest.
Asleep the buildings seem in pallid light;
Adream, we prisoners pass the peaceful night.