Now in the October night
the dark-grey rain mist sweeping
across the plain deepens.
Now everything is erased
that dimly stood out in there:
the clumps of villages,
the embankments’ stumpy willows, –
are erased and glide out
into the same great black darkness
in which the lights gleam
and the rain-wind sings
This landscape, which I have loved
with my innermost soul
and my secret being ...
the farmsteads’ fluttering lights that gleam like memories,
the wind that still sustains the minor key of my youth ...
all of this that has sounded in unison with
my life-depths’ fundamental tone
and sucked my best blood
like a hopeless love - - -
- - -
Now all of them fall silent,
my inner strings.
Not one point
that is sore.
Not one cell
In the midst of my memoriesI am cold and empty.
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