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
Other author posts
The Poet
Only on me, the lonely one, The unending stars of the night shine, The stone fountain whispers its magic song, To me alone, to me the lonely
Stages
As every flower fades and as all Departs, so life at every stage, So every virtue, so our grasp of truth, Blooms in its day and may not last forever
Without You
My Pillow gazes upon me at Empty as a gravestone; I never thought it would be so To be alone,
How Heavy The Days
How heavy the days are There's not a fire that can warm me, Not a sun to laugh with me, Everything bare,
