— The forest, which widens deceased —

And shadows are around it, like hedges.

The deer comes trembling out of hidden places,

While a brook glides very quiet

And follows ferns and ancient stones

And gleams silverly from tangled foliage.

Soon one hears it in black gorges -

Perhaps, also that stars already shine.

The dark plain seems endless,

Scattered villages, marsh and pond,

And something feigns a fire to you.

A cold gleam shoos over roads.

In the sky one anticipates movement,

An army of wild birds migrates

Towards those lands, beautiful, distant.

The stirring of reeds rises and sinks.