Translation:I Go on Dreaming of Paths

I go on dreaming of paths of the evening. Oh, the golden hills, the green pines, the dusty oak trees!...

Where will the path lead? I go on singing, a passenger along the trail... - The falling evening is-.

“In its heart I had a passion’s thorn; I’ll tear it out one day: I no longer feel my heart.”

And all the field remains a moment mute and dark, thinking. The wind sounds through the river poplars.

The evening darkens more; and the path winds and weakly whitens, becomes cloudy and disappears.

My song begins to wail: “Sharp golden thorn, who will feel you once again in the heart hammered shut.”