Wearily Summer turns
from her image in the sea
Wearily I linger where
shadows overgrow the way.
A timid wind is in the tree
The sky is red behind me.
Ahead, the dark is filled with dread
and whispers of mortality.
I linger wearily.
Youth behind me drops his pace
turns away his perfect face
and will no further go.
Hesse
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem