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