FORESTS IN THE FOREST
"Boring is the pine forest?"
My friend, you will revoke that soon!
Then I think you never saw him
When reddish dreams in the treetops
So quiet the last ray of sunshine
And everything is lined with gold.
When gentle nausea like a fragrance
Lies in the soft evening air
And the forest in its last rays
Reflected in the smooth sea
Meanwhile to the meadow ground in the valley
Carefully pulls the slender deer,
And by the thrush's last song
The peace of the evening descends.
But also in the quiet sunshine
And in the midday heat,
Where everything swims in resinous scents,
I like to wander there alone.
At your head only a gentle singing,
And down in the sunny herb
A wheeze, a whirr and a ring.
The hoverflies stand on the sandy slope,
And the fritillaries weigh
On the thyme itself. – Otherwise hardly a sound,
As sometimes from the high air,
Where the Milan swings the circles,
A distant cry. – The bunting sings
Oversleep her short lines
At the edge of the forest. Also flutes well
An oriole hides in the top.
Here a jay calls, harsh and peculiar,
There a woodpecker knocks. –
Then silence again.
But when the red swarm of tribes,
Blue in the corner of the treetops
Many jagged pieces of the summer sky,
The tired look looked enough,
There you may lower him to the ground,
And you will see new wonders:
You see a graceful grove standing,
Much nicer than you might think
Of heather and blueberries.
The little trees stand so gracefully
So finely branched and so mannered,
As if the real forest were them.
Many little animals live in it:
The deer is the brown mouse,
lizards scurry there at the bottom,
And beetles crawl through the foliage.
The shrew sniffs there for prey,
And in the sunny noon hour,
There flies around its low peaks
Many a butterfly with a colorful tip
And flaunts its splendor:
Yellow, tan, fire color and blue.
Are you tired of this sight too?
Your gaze may go even deeper:
A third grove will appear
In which it eagerly lives and flourishes.
And certainly none of the bad ones:
It builds up of moss and lichen,
And see how lovely it shows:
Here delicate fir tree branches,
There finely ramified like corals,
And here begotten and buttoned,
There little club dripped with sealing wax,
And here trumpets that don't sound.
And in the wondrous forest
how it swarms with a thousand little animals,
How it lives and weaves and creeps and crawls
And from the finest little voices resound!
And the people still seem so insignificant
You drive it just as important
Like all the big ones around
And enjoy your life very much!
Well, dear friend, I ask again:
Don't you lower your eyes
And you say, ashamed: "One soon makes a mistake!
I am defeated and utterly defeated
And never want to say it again:
The pine forest is boring!