The Lay of the Love and Death

Riding, riding, riding
 [ ... ]

Von Langenau is writing a letter, deep in thought
 [ ... ]

Rest! To be a guest for once.  ...  
for once to let things happen to one and to know: 
what happens is good. 
 ... 
And to begin again learning what women are. 
And how the white ones do 
and how the blue ones are; 
 ... 

It began as a feast. And became a festival, 
one hardly knows how… 
There was a beating of waves in the halls, 
a meeting together and a choosing of each other, 
a parting with each other and a finding again, 
a rejoicing in the radiance and a blinding in the light… 
Out of dark wine and a thousand roses 
runs the hour rushing into the dream of night.

 ...  he asks a woman, 
who leans to him:
“Are you the night?”
She smiles.
 ... 

 ... 
And now he has nothing on. 
And he is naked as a saint. 
Bright and slender.

Slowly the castle lights go out. Everyone is heavy: 
tired or in love or drunk. 
 ... 
Shorter are the prayers in bed.
But more heartfelt.

The tower room is dark
 [ ... ]

Was a window open? Is the storm in the house? 
Who is slamming the doors? 
Who goes through the rooms? – Let be. 
No matter who. Into the tower room he will not find his way. 
As behind a hundred doors is this great sleep 
two people have in common; 
as much in common as one mother or one death.

Is this the morning? What sun is rising? 
How big is the sun? 
Are those birds? Their voices are everywhere.
All is bright, but it is not day.
All is loud, but not with the voices of birds.
It is the timbers that shine. 
It is the windows that  ...  scream: Fire!
And with torn sleep in their faces they all throng through, 
half iron, half naked, from room to room, 
from wing to wing, and seek the stair.
And with broken breath horns stammer in the court:
Muster, muster!
 ... 

But the flag is not there.
Cries: Cornet!
Careering horses, prayers, shouts,
Curses: Cornet!
Iron on iron, signal, command;
Stillness: Cornet!
And once again: Cornet!
And away with the thundering cavalcade.
— — — — — — —
But the flag is not there.

He is running a race with burning halls, 
 ...  
Upon his arms he carries the flag 
like a white, insensible woman. 
And he finds a horse, and it’s like a cry: 
away over all, passing everything by, 
even his own men. 
And then the flag comes to itself again, 
and it has never been so kingly; 
and now they all see it,  ...  ...
But, behold, it begins to glow, 
flings itself out and grows wide and red ...
— — — — — — —
Their flag is aflame in the enemy’s midst.