For so many has the table
Been prepared, the house set in order.
From their wandering, many
Come on dark paths to this gateway.
The tree of grace is flowering in gold
Out of the cool sap of the earth.
In stillness, wanderer, step in:
Grief has worn the threshold into stone.
But see: in pure light, glowing
There on the table: bread and wine.
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To Karl Borromaus Heinrich
The wild birds have blown away.An icy wind drifts from our stars at evening.Over our gravesThe broken forehead of the night is bending.Under the oaks we veer in a silver skiff.The white walls of the city are always giving offsound.Under arching thornsO my brother blind minute-hands we are climbingtoward midnight
So ghostly are these late days
In the light. However, the night shades the muted lamentOf their eyes, toward which they already turn.They probably smile and recall their celebrations,How one is moved after songs, half forgotten,And searches words for a sad gesture,Which already grows pale in silence unmeasured.So the sun still plays around ill flowersAnd lets them shiver in the thin,…
From deep night I was released.
My soul listens over space and timeTo the melody of eternity!Not day and lust, not night and sufferingIs the melody of eternity,And since I listened to eternity,I feel no more lust and suffering!
Now I step through the slender gate!
Drifts away and quiet waft of wordsFrom people, passersby.I stand before a green stage!Begin, begin again, you playOf lost days, without crime and punishment,Ghostly only, strange and cool!To the melody of the early daysI see myself going up there again,A child whose quiet, forgotten lamentI see weeping, strange to my understanding.You wondering face turned to…