At the Mönchsberg
Where in the shadow of autumn elms the decayed path sinks downward,
Far from the huts of foliage, sleeping shepherds,
Always the dark figure of coolness follows the wanderer
Over the bony footbridge, the hyacinthine voice of the boy,
Softly telling the forgotten legend of the forest,
Gentler the wild lament of the brother now a sick shape.
Thus a scanty green touches the knee of the stranger,
The petrified head;
Nearer, the blue spring murmurs the lament of women.
© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt