The green summer has become

So quiet, your crystalline countenance.

By the evening pond the flowers died,

A frightened call of a blackbird.

Futile hope of life. Already the swallow

In the house prepares for the journey

And the sun sinks at the hill;

The night already beckons to the starry journey.

Silence of villages; the abandoned forests

Resound all around. Heart,

Now bend more lovingly

Over the calm sleeping woman.

The green summer has become

So quiet; and the stranger’s footstep

Rings through the silver night.

Would a blue deer remember his path,

The harmony of his spiritual years!