>>24587740
>Meanwhile, German poetry:
When on the verge the fiery ball
Dips downward in reluctant fall,
I linger on the dunes and yearn
For one I cherish to return.

This time of day is dull at home,
The flower wilts in salty foam,
And no one seeks the last, lone door
And her who came from alien shore.

A fair-haired child now passes by
With naked limbs and cloudless eye.
Singing and skipping as he nears,
He skirts the boat and disappears.

I watch him come, I watch him go,
He never speaks to me, and though
My lips are silent, just to see
Him for an instant gladdens me.

My hearth is warm, my roof is tight,
And yet it harbours no delight.
The rents in every net are sewed
And room and kitchen well bestowed.

I wait, I sit upon the sand,
My temple pulses in my hand,
For if the blond child stays away,
What use to me the livelong day!