It is a stubble-field where black rain falls.
It is a dark-brown tree that stands alone.
It is a soughing wind that swirls round empty huts –
How dismal this evening.
Passing the hamlet
The gentle orphan girl still gathers scanty ears of corn.
Round and golden her eyes feast on the gathering dusk,
Her lap yearning for the heavenly bridegroom.
On their way home
The shepherds found the darling body
Rotting in the briers.
I am a shadow far from desolate villages.
I drank from the springs of the grove.
Cold metal meets my temples.
Spiders seek out my heart.
There is a light that guts in my mouth.
At night I found myself on a heath,
Stiffening with dirt and dust from the stars.
In the thicket of hazels
Crystal angels once more sounded.
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