In the lonely hours of the ghost
There is beauty walking in the sun
Along the yellow walls of the summer.
The footsteps fall quietly in the grass; yet ever sleeps
The son of Pan in the grey marble.
Evenings on the terrace we drank ourselves drunk on brown wine.
The red glow of the peach amid the leaves;
A soft sonata, mirthful laughter.
Beautiful is the stillness of night.
On the dark plain
We meet together with the herdsmen and white stars.
When it becomes autumn
A stark clarity reveals itself in the grove.
We wander calmly along red walls
And our wide eyes follow the flight of birds.
With evening the white water dwindles in the grave urns.
The sky freezes in bare branches.
The peasant brings bread and wine in immaculate hands
And the fruit ripens tranquilly in a sunny room.
O how solemn are the faces of those precious dead.
But it does the soul good by how it does them justice.
translated by James Reidel
Seagull Books, 2015