Walser / Hamburger
Yellow-black in the snow before me a path gleams and winds under trees. It’s evening, and heavily colours moisten the air.
The trees under which I walk have branches like children’s hands; they endlessly beseech, unspeakably dear, when the walker halts and stands.
Distant gardens and hedges burn in the dark confusion, and a glowing sky, fear-frozen, sees the children’s hands stretch out.
I wanted to stop, stand still but was driven on and on, past trees that were all black, but under those black trees I wanted to stop, stand still, yet was driven on and on, past meadows that were green, but by those green meadows