English Translation

Oh/ My day of life sounds like an evening quiet. The last hours run away like sand. Sehwer pulls out from the stove the smoke at the edge of the forest into a blue distant dimmer. Yellows from sun-heat and burns sun-mute silent field and hallway. I feel my way trace and feel nowhere a dear hand. The bell slams in the village, the distant, which already sounded pain to the fathers and joy. It calls from me to decline today. Is now the ripe hour of my harvest?