Above the roofs the sky-blue,
And clouds passing by,
Before the window a tree in spring dew,
And a bird shoots up skyward drunk
...
An animal face in the brown green
Glows shyly to me, the bushes smolder.
Very far away an old fountain sings
With children's voices. I listen there.
...
An old path goes along
Near wild gardens and lonesome walls.
Thousand-year-old yews shudder
In the rising falling chant of the wind.
...
Like the wild organs of the winter storm
Is the people gloomy rage,
The purple billow of battle
Of stars leaf-stripped.
...
Under the trimmed willows, where brown children
are playing
And leaves tumbling, the trumpets blow. A quaking
of cemeteries.
...
Figure which has long dwelt in the coolness of sinister stone
Opens the pale mouth sounding
Round owl's eyes - sounding gold.
Those found the cave of the forest decayed and empty
...
A sultry garden stood the night.
We kept silent ourselves about what grips us horribly.
From this our hearts awoke
And succumbed under the burden of silence.
...
Rotten stone towers sultrily warmed.
Yellow haze of incense hovers.
Bees hum chaotically swarmed
And the flower trellises shake.
...
Sun sets purple,
Swallow has already flown far off.
Under arches in the evening
New wine goes round;
...
The ominous anger of masses of men
Is like the wild organ of the winter storm,
The purple surge of battle,
Leafless stars.
...