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March luck
machine translation of a poem by
Lou Andreas-Salome
(wikipedia link)

On bald, wind-blown branches last March snow hangs damp and softly,
I walks as by fairy tale realm inside into evening-dark silence.

Brightly the twitter of a Meise sounds only,
like self promise of nature for deep forest reasons:
A call, a greeting, a spring telling.

As if it would have a messenger to send around which one frost and snow forgets,
until a spring, which is not, which sees eyes traumbetoert.

Now! It may never betoeren more me - this March luck nevertheless is to happen me:
In winter landscape
stillzustehn around a spring call to listen to * _____________________ *)

Berlin Tempelhof, 1890