Again a retreat, again Waldmitte,
The watchman stands mute like betrayal,
The silver brook of the clammy hermitage,
Gobbles the enchanted path.
The sleepless nights, the lunar gloss,
I go for hacking antlers,
Until the sweat drops of my brow,
In meines Waldes Garten.
Fern dreams dew, beetles crackle,
Trunk and hours are mossy,
Sometimes comes oblivion,
Seldom comes solance.