I dream of him less often now, thank God,
He doesn’t appear everywhere anymore.
Fog lies on the white road,
Shadows start to run along the water.
And the ringing goes on all day.
Over the endless expanse of ploughed fields,
Ever louder sound the bells
From Jonah’s Monastery far away.
I am clipping today’s wilted branches
From the lilac bushes;
On the ramparts of the ancient fortress,
Two monks stroll.
Revive for me, who cannot see,
The familiar, comprehensible, corporeal world.
The heavenly king has already healed my soul
With the peace of unlove, icy cold.