Perfect is the stillness of this golden day.

Under ancient oaks

You appear, Elis, as one at rest with round eyes.

Their blue mirrors the slumber of lovers.

By your mouth

Their rosy sighs fell silent.

In the evening the fisherman hauled in the heavy nets.

A good shepherd

Leads his flock along the forest’s edge.

O! how righteous, Elis, are all your days.

Quietly

Along bleak walls the olive tree’s blue stillness sinks,

Fades away the dark song of an old man.

A golden boat

Sways your heart, Elis, in the lonely sky.

A soft glockenspiel sounds in Elis’ breast

In the evening,

When his head sinks into the black pillow.

A blue deer

Quietly bleeds in the thorn brush.

A brown tree stands isolated there;

Its blue fruits have fallen from it.

Signs and stars

Sink down quietly in the evening pond.

Behind the hill it has become winter.

Blue doves

Drink at night the icy sweat

Which runs from Elis’ crystal forehead.

Always

God’s lonely wind sounds along black walls.