Songs

Among meagre green leaves,
Among flowers, among blossom,
I hear the distant call of the blackbird
And the harsh cry of the small thrush.

And also the soft and delicate sound
Of days and greetings quickly passing.
A sad summer melody,
Suffused with a final sweetness.

And a burning glow
Is borne on the waves of a parched wind;
Reeling, I seem to recognize
The ring of unuttered screams.

And I sit motionless and tremble,
Feel my hours on earth slip away,
And I stay still and live,
While dreams weave their web around me.