Back to the flower window the steeple’s shadow comes
and something golden. The forehead, hot, dies down in rest and silence. 
A fountain falls from chestnut branches in the darkness - 
then you will feel: It’s good! In pain and in exhaustion. 

The market all sold out of summer fruits and garlands. 
Harmoniously matches the gates' darkish splendour. 
The tones of soft play sounding in a garden,
where friends will get together after meals. 

The soul likes listening to the white magician's fairies. 
The ears of corn swish all around, when scythed by mowers afternoons. 
The hard life in the huts keeps silent, uncomplaining; 
the lantern in the cowshed shines upon the cows’ light sleep. 

Drunken with air the eyelids soon will lower
and softly open up to unknown constellations. 
Endymion emerges from the darkness of old oaks 
and bends down over sombre waters.