Classic Poem

I go along dreaming roads
of the twilight. Golden hills,
green pines,
dust-laden oaks! …
Where can this road lead?
I go along singing, a traveler
along the trail …
—Night is falling now—.
“Once I had in my heart
the thorn of a passion;
one day I finally drew it out,
now I no longer feel my heart.”

And all the countryside for a moment
remains silent and somber,
meditating. The wind sounds
in the poplars along the river.

The twilight deepens,
and the road that winds.
and feebly fades
darkens and disappears.

Again my song tolls out:
“Oh sharp golden thorn,
could I but feel you once more
driven into my heart.”