Experience

With silver-gray of mistlets was the vale

Of twilight filling up, as when the moon

Through cloudlets trickles. Yet it was not night.

With silver-gray of mist from darkling vales

Away swam all my twilight-glimmer thoughts,

And mute I sank into the greatly swelling,

Translucent seas and gave up all this life.

What marvelous kinds of flowers found I there,

With calyxes glowing dark! Plant labyrinths,

Through which red-yellow light like that of topazes

In warm streams broke and shone. The whole of it

Was shot through with a deepmost swell of

Music melancholy. And this I knew,

Although I could not grasp it, yet knew I:

That that is death. It is become a music,

Deeply longing, sweet and glowing dark,

Akin to melancholy most.

But most strange!

A nameless soundless homesickness wept on

Within my soul for life, and kept on weeping,

As one weeps, when he aboard a ship

With yellow giant sails towards the evening

On the dark blue water past the town,

His native town, travels on. He sees there

Streets he knew, hears fountains rustle, sniffs

The breath of lilac bushes, sees himself,

A child, on the strand, with children’s eyes,

That are afraid and want to weep, sees

Through the open window light in his room—

The great ship heedless carries him along,

On the dark blue water soundless gliding

With yellow, strangely-shapen giant sails.

Hugo von Hofmannsthal