history

… and when I’m asked upon the life I saw

and thought, and felt, and cast in line and rhyme

amidst this world – immediate to God:

I did not less, perhaps, I did not more,

but sat and span my yarn, assembling time…

Talking of Tennyson: Transience

So runs my dream: but what am I?

An infant crying in the night:

An infant crying for the light:

And with no language but a cry.

(In Memorian A.H.H., 54)

And so I walk across the sites

Of past and present intertwined,

Caleidoscope of shapes and lines,

These labyrinths of shade and light.

.

These labyrinths of day and night,

These human passions carved in stone,

They laught at you before they´re gone

And burst and burn as they collide.

.

They burst and perish – ask not, why.

Scattered across the shingles ashore,

One may not ask nor hope for more.

Nor will, nor soul, nor mind survive.

.

The Sense is conceal´d. Behind the veil –

And what am I to disobey:

All of them, all, who dreamt and prayed,

They all have passed! And so will we…

Vergänglichkeit! Wie bunt…

Vergänglichkeit. Wie bunt ist dieser Sommer,

Wie süß die Trauben meiner frischen Skizzen!

Entwürfe, Reime, Muster und Gesichter,

Aufm Kassenbon gekritzelte Notizen,

All die Begeisterung, all diese Wonne –

Es blüht, es quillt! – und morgen schon Geschichte…