Before them poor children cower.
A gust thins out old linden-trees.
Through the gate a golden shower rains
And the women blessed with child
Tiredly rest on rotten benches.
Drunkards swing glasses and jugs.
A hoodlum lets his fiddle sound
And smocks swell lustfully in the dance.
Roughly brown bodies embrace.
From windows empty eyes gaze.
Stench rises from the fountain’s mirror.
And black, decayed, departed
The hills of vines dusk all around.
A migration of birds glides swiftly southwards.
Along the yellow walls of summer.Quietly whisper the steps in the grass; yet always sleepsThe son of Pan in the grey marble.At eventide on the terrace we got drunk on brown wineThe red peach glows under the foliage.Tender sonata, joyous laughter.Lovely is this silence of the night.On the dark plainsWe gather with shepherds and the…
At the greening spring hill; where beforeA gentle lamb bled, endured the deepestPain; but the dark one follows the shadowOf evil, or he lifts the moist wingsTo the golden disk of the sun and a sound of bellsConvulses his pain-torn breast,Wild hope; the sinisterness of flaming fall.
Thousand-year-old yews shudderIn the rising falling chant of the wind.The moths dance as if they would die soon,My glance drinks weeping the shadows and lights.Far away women’s faces floatGhostly painted in the blue.A smile trembles in the sunshine,Meanwhile I slowly stride on;Unending love gives escort.Quietly the hard rock greens.
our bleached selves appear before us.Thirstywe drink from the pond’s white water,the sweetness of our mournful childhood.Weary, we rest beneath the elderberryto behold the dawning gulls.Spring clouds rise above the town’s dark thoughts—mute, the monks’ nobler days.As I took your tiny handsyour round eyes gently broke upon me.This was long ago.And yet, when darker songs…
Silent people wander thoughtfullyDown there in the evening-blue garden.The ancestors’ marble has turned grey.A line of birds streaks into the distanceA faun with dead eyes gazesOn shadows that glide into darkness.Leaves fall red from the old tree,Rotate inside through the open window.The room glows in dark fires,In it shadows, like ghosts.Opal smoke weaves over the…
For so many has the tableBeen prepared, the house set in order.From their wandering, manyCome on dark paths to this gateway.The tree of grace is flowering in goldOut of the cool sap of the earth.In stillness, wanderer, step in:Grief has worn the threshold into stone.But see: in pure light, glowingThere on the table: bread and…
