And one by Stefan George

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In beech-tree avenue’s rich tinselled light

In beech-tree avenue’s rich tinselled light

We stroll until we almost reach the gate

Through railings in the field outside we sight

The almond tree in second blossom’s spate.

We search for benches where no shadows lie

There where strange voices never drive away ·

In dreams our arms embrace as time goes by ·

We drink our fill of each mild-gleaming ray

Feel gratefully how sunlight traces here

Drip down on us to tree-tops’ soughing sound

And only gaze and listen when we hear

The ripe fruits’ gentle knocking on the ground.