Love
It rustles through our sleep
Like silk, a delicate gust
Like throbbing blossoms
Opening over us.
And I’m led homewards
On your breath, carried
Through enchanted tales
And sagas long-buried.
And my briar-smile plays
With your primal deep range
And all the earth comes
To nestle in around them.
It rustles through our sleep
Like silk, a delicate gust—
The world-old dream
Blessing both of us.
— Else Lasker-Schüler (1869-1945)
translated by Amelia Gorman