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Detlev von Liliencron:
Herbst
Astern blühen schon im Garten,
Schwächer trifft der Sonnenpfeil.
Blumen, die den Tod erwarten
Durch des Frostes Henkerbeil.
Brauner dunkelt längst die Heide,
Blätter zittern durch die Luft.
Und es liegen Wald und Weide
Unbewegt in blauem Duft.
Pfirsich an der Gartenmauer,
Kranich auf der Winterflucht.
Herbstes Freuden, Herbstes Trauer,
Welke Rosen, reife Frucht.
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Detlev von Liliencron:
Autumn
Asters in the garden blooming,
weaker strikes each ray of sun
flowers that are death assuming
once the hoarfrosts have begun.
Darker turns the heather, dying;
leaves are trembling through and through,
and the fields and woods are lying
silent in the fragrant blue.
Peaches on the wall like treasures,
cranes that fore the winter scoot.
Autumn's sadness, autumn's pleasures:
Faded roses, ripened fruit.
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Max Dauthendey:
Solch ein lauer weißer Tag
Solch ein lauer weißer Tag,
Mag die Hände gar nicht rühren,
Nur die Augen liegen wach.
Draußen welken gelb die Bäume,
In der stillen Esche nicken
Graue Blätter, altersschwach.
Graue Blätter, graue Träume.
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Max Dauthendey:
Such a tepid, whitish day
Such a tepid, whitish day:
Will not even move my fingers,
just the eyelids lie awake.
Outside branches' fallow gleaming:
in the silent ash-tree lingers
faded foliage at the stake.
Faded foliage, faded dreaming.
Strange? Well, yes. But Dauthendey was a strange character. A photographer in his father's atelier to start out with. And then he travelled the world round and round. Was caught in Java by the First World War and died there. May his troubled eyes rest in peace...
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