Lilac-less is your hair, your beautiful face in the looking glass.From one eye to the other glides the cloud, like Sodom toward Babel:like leafage it scatters the tower and foams round the sulfur thicket. Then a lightning twitches your mouth – that den with violin splinters.With snow teeth someone is scraping the bow: Oh, the reed echoed more sweetly! You too, my love, are the reed, and we are all rain;a peerless wine is your body, and the ten of us drink it;a boat in the wheatfield's your heart, we row it towards the night;a ewer of blue, how lightly you leap over us, while we sleep… In front of the tent arrives the century, carousing we take you to the grave.Now tinkles on the tiles of the world the hard Thaler from dreams.
by Paul Celan (1920-1970)
