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Blume

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Blume

To the Night

Shining tired on the waves

The setting sun;

Its beams, red and bright,

Gently pierce the sea.

Its chariot's descending

The clear western sky;

Night's claiming her right

To rule the world.


Her wings open wide,

Under which we'll mourn and pray,

Will hide our shame;

My dear Guinevere,

In dismal grief we'll find

Full redemption.


A flock of crows,

Approaching noisily,

Stubbornly croaks

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Sober words to me:

“That yearning heart of yours!

You fool! What have you done?

Bringer of death,

Your soul's forever lost”.


Her wings open wide,

Under which we'll mourn and pray,

Will hide our shame;

My dear Guinevere,

In dismal grief we'll find

Full redemption.


Night's wings open wide,

Under which we'll mourn and pray,

Will hide our shame;

My dear Guinevere,

In dismal grief we'll find