O, the black angel who stepped quietly from inside the tree

When we were soft playmates in the evening

At the edge of the bluish fountain.

Our step was calm, the round eyes in the brown coolness of autumn,

O, the purple sweetness of the stars.

But the other one descended the stony stages of the Mönchsberg,

A blue smile on the countenance and strangely pupated

In his silenter childhood and died;

And the silver countenance of the friend remained in the garden,

Listening in leaf or in ancient stones.

Soul sang death, the green rot of the flesh

And it was the murmur of the forest,

The fervent lament of the deer.

Always the blue evening bells rang from the dusky towers.

Hour came when the other one saw the shadows in the purple sun,

The shadows of putrescence in bleak branches;

Evening, when the blackbird sang by dusking wall,

The ghost of the one who died early silently appeared in the room.

O, the blood that runs from the throat of the sounding one,

Blue flower; o the fiery tear

Wept in the night.

Golden cloud and time. In a lonely chamber

You invite the dead person to be a guest more often,

Wander in intimate conversation under elms down the green river.