Berceuse of the Wanderer.

Before the night, I aver-

Down this endless road, hopes glimmer,

As I tread forth they disappear,

Only to reappear a little further.

In this heart the nature whispers,

Of hooting owls and other creatures;

‘There is no path here, O’ wanderer-

‘Look south and north, what the snow covers’

When my hands tremble and tears trickle

I would answer briefly and forth toddle;

‘Do you not see these love shackles’ -

‘And warm memories that I coddle?’

I shall not halt for some hurdles,

I see hopes and hopes rekindled,

Sublime me questions, and do befuddle-

Till I rest at last in the earth cuddle.

Steinfurt.