A silk woven zephyr rushes through our sleep, like throbbing blossom that covers us both. And I'm carried home in the weave of your breath, through magical tales and mournful legends. And my gorsed smile plays with your deep-rooted features, and the earth comes up to nestle against us. It rushes through our sleep like a silk woven zephyr— a world-weary dream that blesses us both.
Else Laske-Schüler (1869-1945)