And I grew up in patterned tranquillity,
In the cool nursery of the young century.
And the voice of man was not dear to me,
But the voice of the wind I could understand.
But best of all the silver willow.
And obligingly, it
With me all my life; it's weeping
Fanned my insomnia with dreams.
And strange!—I outlived it.
There the stump stands; with strange
Other willows are
Under our, under those skies.
And I am silent…As if a brother had died.
Translated by Judith Hemschemeyer
