Quaint Spring

Probably around the deep midday,

I lay on an old stone,

Before me in quaint dress

Three angels stood in the sunshine.

O ominous spring year!

In the acre the last snow melted,

And the birch's hair hung quivering

In the cold, clear lake.

From the sky a blue ribbon blew,

And beautifully a cloud flowed within,

Facing it, I lay dreaming -

The angels kneeled in sunshine.

Loudly a bird sang marvelous stories,

And at once I could understand it:

Still before your first desire is satisfied,

You must go die, must go die!

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