With dark gazes the lovers look at each other,

The blonde, radiant ones. In rigid sinisterness

Their yearning arms lankly entwine.

Purple, the blessed one’s mouth broke. Round eyes

Mirror the dark gold of the spring afternoon,

Edge and blackness of the forest, evening-anguishes in the green;

Perhaps the unspeakable flight of birds, the unborn’s

Path past sinister villages, lonely summers

And sometimes out of decayed blueness a demised shape steps.

Quietly the yellow corn rustles in the acre.

Life is hard and the countryman swings the scythe steely,

The carpenter joins enormous rafters.

The leaves in autumn tinge purple; the monkish spirit

Wanders through cheerful days; the grape is ripe

And the air festive in spacious courtyards.

The yellowed fruits smell sweeter; the laughter of the joyful

Is quiet, music and dance in shady cellars;

In the dusking garden step and stillness of the dead boy.