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schauen Sie heraus nach den Sternen, meine Liebe
fällt hier kein Licht
zu, was eine Frau sie geliebt vergleicht
Schlaf, grauer Bruder des Todes
es gibt keine Menge, gleichwohl aufgepaßt und geneigt
das Kind, das weg Blatt nach Blatt warf
unter dusky Lorbeerblatt
meine Mutter unterrichtete mich daß jede Nacht
meine sorge, wenn sie hier mit mir ist
gelebt durch den River-side

 



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