Zierlich ist des Vogels Tritt im Schnee,
Wenn er wandelt auf des Berges Hoeh:
Zierlicher schreibt Liebchens liebe Hand,
Schreibt ein Brieflein mir in ferne Land’.

In die Luefte hoch der Reiher steigt,
Dahin weder Pfeil noch Kugel fleugt:
Tausendmal so hoch und so geschwind
Die Gedanken treuer Liebe sind.

Eduard Moerike 1837

Hunter's Song

How delicate a bird treads when,
On a high mountain it wanders in snow:
More delicate still my love's sweet hand,
When writ
ing to me from distant lands.

High in the sky the heron soars,
Beyond the reach of arrow and shot:
A thousand times as swift and high
aithful thoughts by love inspired.

Translation: Charles L. Cingolani      Copyright © 2011
. . . How easily this poem unfolds, as if it were a random thought Moerike had while taking a walk . . .
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