The sunny fragrance, September breeze,
they blew a little gnat onto my book,
that sought a resting place
and a shroud far from the forest.
 
Four little wings of fine silk
it wore on its tender back,
and in them one could see
rainbow-colored light!
 
Bright green was the slender body,
bright green the three pairs of little feet,
and on the little head, strangely,
sat a smart little plume;
the little eyes, like golden metal,
shone into my deepest heart.
 
This delicate and mannerly being
had chosen for its burial place and shroud
this bright paper
from which I was reading, a poetical book;
 
so I left the volume lying open
and watched the dying in amazement,
how slowly, slowly, without complaining,
the tiny animal came to its rest.
 
Three days it walked, tired and dull,
around on the paper;
the little wings of fine silk,
they all four shone.
 
On the fourth day it stood still,
exactly on the word "will!"
Quite bravely it stood on that space,
lifted each little foot as if in a dream.

On the fifth day it lay down,
but on the sixth it still moved;
on the seventh, Death finally won,
then was its trouble at an end.
Now its light limbs rest in the book;
may we also have such peace!