In the evenings on restaurants
Hot air is wild and deaf,
And reigns drunken shouts
Spring and noxious spirit.
away, over dusty alley,
The boredom of country cottages,
A little gilded pretzel bakery,
And hear a baby crying.
And every evening, beyond the barriers,
wringing bowlers,
Among the ditches walking with ladies
wits.
Above the lake, oarlocks creak,
And a woman squeal,
And in the sky, inured to it all,
Senseless grimaces drive.
And every night is the only one
In my glass is reflected
And moisture tart and mysterious,
Like me, calm and deaf.
A near neighboring tables
Footmen sleepy stick,
And drunk with eyes of rabbits
"In vino veritas!"cry.
And every evening, at this hour,
(Or is it just a dream to me?)
Devic state, swathed in silk,
In the misty moving window.
And slowly, passing between the drunken,
Always, without satellites, one,
Breathing spirits and mists,
She sits by the window.
And blowing ancient superstitions
Its elastic silk,
And a hat with mourning feathers,
And in the rings narrow arm.
And strange nearness
I look through the veil,
And I see the enchanted shore
And charmed distance.
Deaf secrets entrusted to me,
I'm someone's sun handed,
And all my soul bends
It pierced the wine.
The ostrich plumes
In my swing brain,
And fathomless blue eyes
Bloom on the far shore.
In my heart lies a treasure,
And the key is entrusted only to me!
you're right, drunken monster!
I know: In vino veritas.
ponds. 24 April 1906
