The dark autumn returns filled with fruit and plentitude,

Yellowed shine of beautiful summer days.

A pure blueness steps from a decayed hull;

The flight of the birds sounds from old legends.

The wine is pressed, the mild stillness

Fulfilled with the quiet answer of dark questions.

And here and there, a cross on barren hill;

In the red forest a herd tails off.

The cloud wanders over the pond-mirror;

The countryman’s calm gesture rests.

Very quietly the evening’s blue wing stirs

A roof of dried straw, the black earth.

Soon stars nest in the brows of the weary one;

In cool rooms a silent modesty enters

And angels step quietly from the blue

Eyes of lovers, who suffer more softly.

The reed murmurs; a bony horror attacks

When dew drips blackly from bleak willows.