THE big mountains sit still in the afternoon
light
Shadows in
their lap;
The
bees roll round in the wild-thyme with de-
light.
We sitting here among the cranberries
So still in the
gap
Of rock,
distilling our memories
Are sinners! Strange! The bee that blunders
Against me goes off with a
laugh.
A squirrel
cocks his head on the fence, and wonders
What about sin? — For, it seems
The mountains
have
No shadow of
us on their snowy forehead of dreams
As they ought to have. They rise above us
Dreaming
For ever. One even might
think that they love us.
Little red cranberries cheek to cheek,
Two great dragon-flies
wrestling;
You,
with your forehead nestling
Against me, and bright peak shining to peak-
—
There’s a love-song for you! — Ah, if only
There were no
teeming
Swarms of
mankind in the world, and we were
less lonely!
MAYRHOFEN