The birds are still bathing the azure day in ringing songs,
The cloak of rye in golden waves is swaying in sunlight.
(The winds sprawl out, the winds are playing a harp);
And in the sky someone is already quarreling. A blue and black curtain
Covers half the sky in silence. The earth attires itself in shadow.
Man is hiding like an animal.
“God is coming!” Thought the wormwood.
The rain begins to cry... and tapers off.
The mountain grows silent. The valley grows still.
“God’s shadow.” The wormwood whispers.
And suddenly – the curtain tears in half! – Dead silence...
The fire scurries, blooms, and breaks up – even the waters seethe!
And a song flows out; a sacrifice is brought.
The dusty roads run off... And whirlwinds tear
The scant vein-like roots of old willows that pray in tears.
And the grass does not even dare to cry.
Mighty powers are coming! Darkness. Terror...
...And bells are ringing somewhere in a village.
Look – silver doves are already fluttering
Sowing calm in the sky.
1914-1916