SONG OF A MAN WHO IS NOT LOVED THE space of the world is immense, before me and around me; If I turn quickly, I am terrified, feeling space surround me; Like a man in a boat on very clear, deep water, space frightens and confounds me. I see myself isolated in the universe, and wonder What effect I can have. My hands wave under The heavens like specks of dust that are floating asunder. I hold myself up, and feel a big wind blowing Me like a gadfly into the dusk, without my know- ing Whither or why or even how I am going. So much there is outside me, so infinitely Small am I, what matter if minutely I beat my way, to be lost immediately? How shall I flatter myself that I can do Anything in such immensity? I am too Little to count in the wind that drifts me through. GLASHÜTTE
SINNERS
THE big mountains sit still in the afternoon light Shadows in their lap; The bees roll round in the wild-thyme with de- light. We sitting here among the cranberries So still in the gap Of rock, distilling our memories Are sinners! Strange! The bee that blunders Against me goes off with a laugh. A squirrel cocks his head on the fence, and wonders What about sin?—For, it seems The mountains have No shadow of us on their snowy forehead of dreams As they ought to have. They rise above us Dreaming For ever. One even might think that they love us. Little red cranberries cheek to cheek, Two great dragon-flies wrestling; You, with your forehead nestling Against me, and bright peak shining to peak— There's a love-song for you!—Ah, if only There were no teeming Swarms of mankind in the world, and we were less lonely! MAYRHOFEN
MISERY
OUT of this oubliette between the mountains five valleys go, five passes like gates; three of them black in shadow, two of them bright with distant sunshine; and sunshine fills one high valley bed, green grass shining, and little white houses like quartz crystals, little, but distinct a way off. Why don't I go? Why do I crawl about this pot, this oubliette, stupidly? Why don't I go?
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