Eyes my dear little windows,
Give me a little longer the fairest glows of vision
Be kind, let the images in,
For someday you shall grow dim!
No sooner shall the light have ceased
And the tired lids close than the soul shall have peace;
She will fumbling take off her walking shoes
And lay her down in the coffin’s gloom.
Still, she will see two glimmering sparks,
Like two little stars in the inner dark,
‘ Till they, too, waver and finally die,
As though by the wing of a butterfly
And still will I roam in the evening fields,
With only the sinking star for a friend;
Drink in, oh eyes, all your lashes can hold
Of the golden abundance of the world!
For Hermann Rorchach, a light dimmed out to soon.
Art Gustva Klimt