I feel the cold and now I understand
what means to end in cold.
Winter is only beginning now, but hunger
adds to the cold
But more low temperatures in the sad
soul, the Inner Soul, the deep Inner Soul
Together they conspire, they combine,
and already hear I
the black veiled figure-woman sing
the last fugue of me and the last
verses.
the acerb lemon now grows in the
garden where midst the acerb trees
there plays the slow sound of
the last fugue, the last very last,
last verses.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem