AH in the thunder air
how still the trees
are!
And the lime-tree, lovely and tall, every leaf
silent
hardly looses
even a last breath of perfume.
And the ghostly, creamy coloured little tree of
leaves
white, ivory
white among the rambling greens
how evanescent, variegated elder, she hesitates
on the green grass
as if, in another moment, she would disappear
with all her grace of
foam!
And the larch that is only a column, it goes up too tall
to see:
and the
balsam-pines that are blue with the grey-blue blueness
of things from the
sea,
and the young
copper beech, its leaves red-rosey at the ends
how still they are together,
they stand so still
in the thunder air, all strangers to one another
as the green grass glows
upwards, strangers in the garden.
Lichtentnl.