I came here, in idleness.
Where I’m bored: all the same to me!
A sleepy hilltop mill, yes,
Here years pass silently.
Over convolvulus gone dry
The bee swims past, ahead,
I call to that mermaid by
The pond: the mermaid’s dead.
Thick with mud, and rusted,
The wide pond’s shallows:
Over the trembling aspen
A weightless moon glows.
I see everything freshly.
The poplars smell moist.
I’m silent. Silent, ready
To be yours again, earth.