Oven Sets Off Carbon M

Hermann Hesse Eleanor

  The autumn evenings remind me of you. 
 The forests lie dark, the day fades 
 edges of packages in red halo. 
 In a cottage near a crying baby. 
 The wind goes through the steps later 
 trunks to collect the last leaves. 
 
 Then salt, which is long accustomed to the murky eyes, the stranger 
 
 lonely crescent moon with its half-light of unknown lands. If 
 it is cold, indifferent to his path. 
 The light envelops the woods, the reeds, the pond and the path 
 with pale halo melancholy. 
 Even in winter nights when the windows without light 
 swirl of flakes 
 dances and tempestuous wind, I often have the impression of watching you. The plan 
 sings powerfully misleading 
 and your deep and dark contralto voice 
 speaks to my heart. You, the cruellest of beautiful women. 
 
 My hand grabs at times 
 the lamp and its light lay soft on the wide wall. From ancient 
 frame your picture looks dark 
 knows me well and smiles at me strangely. 
 But I kiss the hands and hair and whispering 
 your name.