Holderlin

Evening Fantasy


At peace the plowman sits in the shade outside
His cottage; Smoke curls up from his modest hearth.
A traveler hears the bell for vespers
Welcome him in to a quiet village.

Now too the boatmen make for the harbor pool,
In distant towns the market's gay noise and throng
Subside; a glittering meal awaits the
Friends in the garden's most hidden arbor.

But where shall I go?  Does not a mortal live
By work and wages?  Balancing toil with rest
All makes him glad.  Must I alone then
Find no relief from the thorn that goads me?

A springtime buds high up in the evening sky,
There countless roses bloom and the golden world
Seems calm, fulfilled; There now take me,
Crimson-edged clouds, and up there at last let

My love and sorrow melt into light and air! -
As if that foolish plea had dispersed it, though,
The spell breaks; darkness falls, and lonely
Under the heavens I stand as always. --

Now you come, gentle sleep!  For the heart demands
Too much; but youth at last, you the dreamy, wild,
Unquiet, will burn out, and leave me
All my late years for serene contentment.



trns. by M. Hamburger 



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