Level field, dressed up with everything,
Everything; with sky-blue flowerets small,
Fresh green grass, and bushes thick with leaves;
But defaced by one thing, but by one!
For in thy very middle stands a broom,
On the broom a young grey eagle sits,
And he butchers wild a raven black,
Sucks the raven’s heart-blood glowing hot,
Drenches with it, too, the moistened earth.
Ah, black raven, youth so good and brave!