Probably around the deep midday,
I lay on an old stone,
Before me in quaint dress
Three angels stood in the sunshine.
O ominous spring year!
In the acre the last snow melted,
And the birch's hair hung quivering
In the cold, clear lake.
From the sky a blue ribbon blew,
And beautifully a cloud flowed within,
Facing it, I lay dreaming -
The angels kneeled in sunshine.
Loudly a bird sang marvelous stories,
And at once I could understand it:
Still before your first desire is satisfied,
You must go die, must go die!
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