Lying In Grass
Is this everything now, the quick delusions of flowers,
And the down colors of the bright summer meadow,
The soft blue spread of heaven, the bees' song,
Is this everything only a
Groaning dream,
The cry of unconscious powers for deliverance?
The distant line of the mountain,
That beautifully and courageously rests in the blue,
Is this too only a convulsion,
Only the wild strain of fermenting nature,
Only grief, only agony, only meaningless fumbling,
Never resting, never a blessed movement?
No!
Leave me alone, you impure
Of the world in suffering!
The dance of tiny insects cradles you in an evening radiance,
The bird's cry cradles you,
A breath of wind cools my
With consolation.
Leave me alone, you unendurably old human grief!
Let it all be pain.
Let it all be suffering, let it be wretched-But not this one sweet hour in the summer,
And not the fragrance of the red clover,
And not the deep tender
In my soul.
Translated by James Wright
Hermann Hesse
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Thinking Of A Friend At Night
In this evil year, autumn comes early…I walk by night in the field, alone, the rain clatters, The wind on my hat…And you And you, my friend You are standing—maybe—and seeing the sickle
Across The fields
Across the sky, the clouds move, Across the fields, the wind, Across the fields the lost Of my mother wanders
Without You
My Pillow gazes upon me at Empty as a gravestone; I never thought it would be so To be alone,
I Know You Walk--
I walk so often, late, along the streets, Lower my gaze, and hurry, full of dread, Suddenly, silently, you still might And I would have to gaze on all your
