My Regine!
How beautiful the face with a meaningful expression, how enchanting the eye that understands every hint! It is as if one read with his eyes what the other wrote with his eyelid. And yet the eye has its limits and the writing of the eyelid cannot be read from a distance; it can only be understood close up. But how quick is the thought when it is sent winging with all the might of the tensed spirit like an arrow from the drawn bow, and how surely it strikes its target! How lightly and beautifully it rises like the falcon, hovers over prey, lights on it, holds it fast, so that nothing can tear it away.
It is Indian summer, towards evening. The little window is open, the moon swells, outdoing itself in splendor so as to eclipse the mirror image in the sea, which seems to outshine it almost audibly- it is that wonderful. The moon flushes with rage and conceal itself in a cloud, the sea shivers. -- You sit on the sofa, your thoughts float far afield, your eye is fixed on nothing, infinite thoughts fade away in the infinity of the wide heavens, everything in between is gone, it is as though you sailed in the air. And you summon the fleeting thoughts that show you an object, and if a sigh had propulsive force, if a human being were so light, so ethereal that the compressed air released by a sigh could carry him away, and indeed the more quickly the deeper the sigh-then you would be with me in that very instant.
-----But how quick is the thought when it is sent winging with all the might of the tensed spirit like an arrow from the drawn bow,when yearning is the bowstring, joyful certainty the arm that draws it, and unfailing hope the eye that take aim.
................................................................
How beautiful the face with a meaningful expression, how enchanting the eye that understands every hint! It is as if one read with his eyes what the other wrote with his eyelid. And yet the eye has its limits and the writing of the eyelid cannot be read from a distance; it can only be understood close up. But how quick is the thought when it is sent winging with all the might of the tensed spirit like an arrow from the drawn bow, and how surely it strikes its target! How lightly and beautifully it rises like the falcon, hovers over prey, lights on it, holds it fast, so that nothing can tear it away.
It is Indian summer, towards evening. The little window is open, the moon swells, outdoing itself in splendor so as to eclipse the mirror image in the sea, which seems to outshine it almost audibly- it is that wonderful. The moon flushes with rage and conceal itself in a cloud, the sea shivers. -- You sit on the sofa, your thoughts float far afield, your eye is fixed on nothing, infinite thoughts fade away in the infinity of the wide heavens, everything in between is gone, it is as though you sailed in the air. And you summon the fleeting thoughts that show you an object, and if a sigh had propulsive force, if a human being were so light, so ethereal that the compressed air released by a sigh could carry him away, and indeed the more quickly the deeper the sigh-then you would be with me in that very instant.
-----But how quick is the thought when it is sent winging with all the might of the tensed spirit like an arrow from the drawn bow,when yearning is the bowstring, joyful certainty the arm that draws it, and unfailing hope the eye that take aim.
................................................................
Your S.K.
Комментариев нет:
Отправить комментарий