On The Bare Roadway
On the bare roadway
the blossomed hour springs,
a lonely thorn
at the shady bend of the deep valley.
Now the true psalm
returns in a frail voice
to my heart, and to my lips
broken and trembling speech.
My old seas sleep; their noisy foam
turned to ashes
on the barren shore; the storm
travels in the grim, faraway cloud.
Peace returns to the sky;
the benevolent wind sows scents
on the meadow again, and your shadow
appears in the holy solitude.
Translated by Charles Guenther
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