Резултати претраге

In former times my demon laughed

In former times my demon laughed,
when I was a light in glimmering gardens,
and dalliance and dance were my companions
and the wine of love, which makes us drunk.
 
In former times my demon cried,
when I was a light in grief-stricken gardens
and humility was my companion,
whose clarity shines on poverty’s house.
 
Now that my demon neither weeps nor laughs,
I am a shadow of forsaken gardens
and have as my deathly-dark companion
the silence of the empty midnight.
 

Sister's garden (2nd version)

In sister’s garden still and calm
a blue, a red from flowers late
her step has turnèd white.
A blackbird’s cry, astray and late,
in sister’s garden still and calm

Sister's garden (1st version)

It's already cool, it's already late,
already fall has come
to sister's garden, still and calm

Fragment 11

Snowy night!
You dark sleepers
beneath the bridge
from your broken brow
crystal sweat is dripping.
 

Vision of reality

Today this vision of reality
has sunk again into nothingness,
faraway are things to me,
even more remote their voices,
and I listen [with] enlivened [senses]
once again to the melodies
inside me,
and my elated eye
dreams its visions again
that are more beautiful
than all reality.
 

Into an old friendship book

Again and again you return, melancholy,
o, meekness of the lonely soul.
A golden day glows to its end.
 
Humbly the patient one bows to grief
resounding with harmony and mellow madness.
Look! It is already dusking.
 
Again night descends and a mortal laments
and another shares his sorrow.
 
Shivering under autumn stars
the head bends deeper year by year.
 

What lightly walketh under trees in autumn

What lightly walketh under trees in autumn
by the green stream, o’er which seagulls are gliding -
the leaves, they fall

My paltry smile, that struggled for you

My paltry smile, that struggled for you,
my sobbing song died away in the dark.
And now my path draws to a close.
 
In your cathedral let me tread
like once, a fool, simple, devout,
and stand before you, mute, adoring.
 

Methinks I dreamed about falling leaves

Methinks I dreamed about falling leaves,
of ample forests and sombre lakes,
of sorrowful words reechoing -
however, I couldn’t make sense of them.
 
Methinks I dreamed about falling stars,
of weeping and pleading pallid eyes,
of a friendly smile reechoing -
however, I couldn’t make sense of it.
 
Like falling leaves, like falling stars,
I saw myself evermore come and go,
a dream’s immortal reechoing -
however, I couldn’t make sense of it.
 

O let my silence be your song!

O let my silence be your song!
What should the poor man’s whisper be for you,
he who has parted from life’s gardens?
Let you abide in me unnamed -
 
who dreamlessly exists in me,
such as a bell without a tone,
such as my sorrow’s lovely bride
and the drunk poppy of my sleeps.
 

O night, you wordless gate into my harm

O night, you wordless gate into my harm,
see bleeding out this stigma dark
and see the cup of trembling at a tilt!
Ready am I, o night!
 
O night, you garden of forgottenness
round my need’s shine, secreted from the world,
the vine leaves wilt, the crown of thorns, it wilts.
O come, you solemn time!
 

St. Peter's Graveyard

All round a solitude twixt stones.
The pallid flowers of death do shudder
on gravesites mourning in the darkness -
this mourning, yet, is without pain.
 
The heavens silently smile down
into this dream-enclosèd garden,
where silent pilgrims wait with reverence.
The cross, a guard upon each grave.
 
The chapel rises like a prayer
before an icon of grace eternal,
some candles burn under the arcades
and mutely plead for the poor souls -
 
meanwhile the trees blossom by night
the countenance of death to shroud in
their beauty's glimmering abundance,
which makes the dead dream deeper yet.
 

Silence

Over the woods the moon shines pale,
the moon, that makes us dream

Summer (Evening in Lans, first version)

Summer under whitewashed arches,
yellowed corn, a bird is whirring in and out.
Evening and the musky scents of green.
Red human, on a dusking way, whereto?
O’er lonely hill and past the ossuary,
o’er the belts of the forest the silver heart dances.
 

Profound peace ‑ o profound peace!

Profound peace - o profound peace!
Not a pious church bell ringing,
sweetest mater dolorosa -
for your peace that is death-widened.
 
Close all wounds, they may be healing,
with your good and cooling hands -
so that they may bleed out inward -
dearest Mother of Sorrows - you!
 

From shadows of a breath arisen

From shadows of a breath arisen
we wander, lonely and forlorn
and in eternity forsaken,
like sacrificed ones unknowing to whom.
 
Like beggars nothing is our own:
fools, standing at the locked-up gate.
And blind we listen to the silence,
in which our whispering got lost.
 
We wander without destinations,
and clouds we are, blown by the wind,
and flowers, trembling in fear of dying,
which wait until one mows them down.
 

To Novalis (2nd version)

In dark earth the sacred stranger rests.
From a delicate bud
the divine spirit grew in the youth,
the drunken music of the strings,
and fell silent in promising blossom.
 

To Novalis (first version)

Resting in crystalline earth, holy stranger,
a God took his lament from his dark mouth,
when he sank to the ground in his bloom
peacefully the lute died down
in his breast,
and spring strewed her palms before him,
when with reluctant steps
he quietly left the house late at night.
 

The darkness silently wiped me out

The darkness silently wiped me out,
I was a dead shadow in the day -
then I stepped out of my friends’ house -
out into the night.
 
Now there is a silence in my heart,
that does not feel the dreary day -
and it smiles up to you like thorns,
Night - forever!
 

So that the last torment fulfills itself in me

So that the last torment fulfills itself in me,
I fight you not, you dark and hostile forces.
You are the road that leads to the great stillness -
we stride on it into the coolest nights.
 
It is your breath that makes my yearning louder,
patience! The star burns out, the dreams are gliding
into those realms never revealed to us,
in which we only dreamlessly may stride.
 

Transformation

Along the gardens, scorched with the crimson colors of the fall:
We see the life of a diligent man.
Who carries the brown grapes in his hands,
While in his look the sullen pain descends.
 
In the evening: Steps sound on the dark ground
Appearing in the silence of a red beech.
A blue beast wants to bow before death
And an empty garb decays in horror.
 
In front of a tavern music softly plays,
A drunken face lies buried in the grass.
elderberries, soft flutes and the feminine,
around which the scent of sweet reseda sways.