Im Walde
In the Forest

Schlegel F

Wind rushing, the wing of God
Deep in the cool of the forest night.
As the hero spurs his horse,
So the power of thought takes flight.
As the ancient pine treesí sway
So, hear in waves manís spirit stray.

Glorious is the fireís light
In the red glow of the dawn,
Or fields lit with lightningís flash
Where those portents of death are born.
The quick flame quivers, flares heavenward
As if summoned to the presence of the Lord.

The constant murmur of gentle springs
Flowers from our torment wrings,
Yet sadness still in gentle waves
Beats seductively at our hearts;
The spirit drawn to distant parts
By those who beckon through the waves.

Lifeís drive to leave itís carapace,
Its fight with urges strong and wild,
These become lifeís sweet fulfilment
By spiritís calm breath reconciled.
And breezes, more creative, in the air
Flow to our souls; we feel them there.

Wind rushing, the wing of God
Deep in the dark of the forest night.
Now released from any harness,
So the power of thought takes flight.
Now free from any dread, we hear
The spiritsí song in air so clear.