The city is asleep,
And it appears
My soul has gone along to sleep as well.
And yet... my heart doth weep
As I behold
The beauty and the madness of the bell
The church from down the hill so strongly, deep
Tolls to arouse inanity,
The lives of men drawn back from the dark well
In which they, oh, so carelessly do leap
Night after night,
Then day by day, in this horrific citadel
They try to tell themselves: 'it isn't steep,
'this climb i'll have to make tomorrow 'morn;
'It's not so very hard to be reborn...'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.