There in the wild grove, by the ravine
green hill. There's always a shadow.
Around - Live stream moisture
Murmur catches laziness.
Flowers and grass cover
green hill, and never
These rays do not penetrate,
Only quietly rolling water.
lovers, openly, will not
Look into the cool darkness.
To tell, what colors do not fade,
Why is not the source has dried up? –
There, there, deep beneath the roots
Lay my suffering,
Feeding eternal tears,
Ophelia, your flowers!
3 November 1898
