Bokelskere.no

Cold winds of autumn rustle through the withered reeds
Grey in the evening;
Crows flicker inland from the willow trees.

Standing still and alone on the strand, an old man
Feels the wind in his hair, the night and approaching snow,
He gazes across from the shadowed shore to the brightness
Where, between the clouds and lake, a band
Of distant shore still warmly glows in light -
The gold beyond, blissful as dreams and poems.

He holds the glowing image in his eye
And thinks of home, and thinks of his good years
Sees the gold grow pale, sees it die out
And then he turns away and very slowly
Wanders inland from the willow trees.

Hermann Hesse - Sketch 1937