Evening
The bleak fields are asleep, My heart alone wakes; The evening in the harbour Down his red sails takes. Night, guardian of dreams, Now wanders through the land; The moon, a lily white, Blossoms within her hand.
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Do you still remember: falling stars,
how they leapt slantwise through the sky
like horses over suddenly held-out hurdles
of our wishes—did we have so many?—
for stars, innumerable, leapt everywhere;
almost every gaze upward became
wedded to the swift hazard of their play,
and our heart felt like a single thing
beneath that vast disintegration of their brilliance—
and was whole, as if it would survive them!
The bleak fields are asleep, My heart alone wakes; The evening in the harbour Down his red sails takes. Night, guardian of dreams, Now wanders through the land; The moon, a lily white, Blossoms within her hand.
Is he native to this realm? No, his wide nature grew out of both worlds. They more adeptly bend the willow's branches who have experience of the willow's roots. When you go to bed, don't leave bread or milk on the table: it attracts the dead— But may he, this quiet conjurer, may he beneath the mildness of the eyelid mix their bright traces into every seen thing; and may the magic of earthsmoke and rue be as real for him as the clearest connection. Nothing can mar for him the authentic image; whether he wanders through houses or graves, let him praise signet ring, gold necklace, jar.
The leaves fall, fall as from far, Like distant gardens withered in the heavens; They fall with slow and lingering descent. And in the nights the heavy Earth, too, falls From out the stars into the Solitude. Thus all doth fall. This hand of mine must fall And lo! the other one:—it is the law. But there is One who holds this falling Infinitely softly in His hands.