My aunt, Yearning, knows a song
That sounds so sweetly in the twilight,
That sounds so sweetly that I must weep --
I know not why.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
She sings of a mighty forest
With a thousand pillars and a thousand gates,
Two people have become lost therein,
They hold each other tightly and kiss each other mutely,
They wander and wander and do not look back . . .
I am so anxious about the two of them --
Much suffering awaits them. --
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
A water-spring chatters in the moss . . .
Do not go to where the spring's water runs:
That is a poor enchanted child;
She was once as young and beautiful as you are
And went wandering full of yearning. --
Now she weeps many glittering tears,
Now she lies bound in the green moss,
And flowers sprout forth from her lap,
They stretch their little heads up to the light,
They nod and blow in the wind
Above the weeping child --
"Forget me not!"
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Day steps out of the woods early --
Ah, that you could find your way home!
Behind you two in the dark forest,
The mist-man is already snickering quietly,
From out of his flaxen beard he spins
Shimmering threads, delicate as silk,
Secretly he drapes them from tree to tree,
Twilight descends upon the forest expanse . . .
You grow weary . . . so weary . . .
Ah, may an angel protect you!