Der Steppenwolf

The Wolf trots to and fro,

The world lies deep in snow,

The raven from the birch tree flies.

But nowhere a hare, nowhere a roe.

The roe - she is so dear, so sweet

If such a thing I might surprise

In my embrace, my teeth would meet,

What else is there beneath the skies?

The lovely creature I would so treasure,

And feast myself deep on her tender thigh,

I would drink of her blood full measure,

Then howl till the night went by.

Even a hare I would not despise;

Sweet enough its warm flesh in the night.

Is everything to be denied

That could make life a little bright?

The hair on my brush is getting grey.

The sight is failing from my eyes.

Years ago my dear mate died.

And now I trot and dream of a roe.

I trot and dream of a hare.

I hear the wind of midnight howl.

I cool with the snow my burning jowl,

And on to the devil my wretched soul I bear.

Hermann Hesse