THAT night on Judge’s Walk the wind
Was as the voice of doom;
The heath, a lake of darkness, lay
As silent as the tomb.
The vast night brooded, white with stars,
Above the world’s unrest;
The awfulness of silence ached
Like a strong heart repressed.
That night we walked beneath the trees,
Alone, beneath the trees;
There was some word we could not say
Half uttered in the breeze.
That night on Judge’s Walk we said
No word of all we had to say;
And now no word shall e’er be said
Before the Judgment Day.
Arthur Symons.
ICH HÖR’ ES SOGAR IM TRAUM.
SING on, sing on: half dreaming still
I hear you singing down the hill,
Through the green wood, beside the rill.
Each to the other sing, sweet birds;
Make music sweeter far than words;
Drown my still soul with song, sweet birds.
Under each starbeam there was sleep;
Far down the river wandered deep;
The woods closed round it still and steep.
One watch-dog from the lone farm bayed;
The waterfowl beneath the shade
Of sedge and flowering reed were laid.
The birds sang on, and slumber shed
Like silver clouds upon my head;
I slept, nor stirred me in my bed.