The Dark Valley

In pines a migration of crows flutters away

And green evening fogs rise

And like in dream a sound of violins

And maids run to the dance in the inn

One hears laughter and shouts of drunkards

A shower goes through old yews

In deathly pale window panes

The shadows of the dancers scurry past

It smells of wine and thyme

And lonely calling resounds through the forest

The beggars listen on the steps

And begin to pray senselessly

A deer bleeds to death in the hazel bushes

Dully gigantic tree arcades sway

Overloaded by icy clouds

Lovers rest embraced by the pond