Thinking of my friend at night

Autumn is early this terrible year ...
I go to the field by night, alone, wind on hat,
Rain pattering ... And you? And you, my friend?

You stand - perhaps - and watch the crescent moon
Crossing above the woods in a small arc
And a camp fire red in a dark valley.
You lie - perhaps - in a straw field and sleep,
And on your brow and army coat the dew falls cold.

Maybe you are out on a horse tonight,
At the front, peering around, a revolver in your hand,
Whispering and smiling with your tired old nag.
Perhaps - I like to think - you are a guest
In a strange castle and its grounds tonight
And writing a letter by candlelight,
And tapping as you pass by on the keys
Of a grand piano ...
                                  - And perhaps
You are already silent, dead, and the day
Shines no more on your dear, serious eyes,
And your dear, brown hand hangs down limply there,
And your white forehead gapes open - oh, if I
Had only one more time on that last day
If I had just shown you, spoken something
Of my love, that tended to be too shy!

But you know me, you know ... and smiling nod.

You in the night before your strange castle,

And nodding on your horse in the wet wood,

And nodding in your sleep on your hard straw,

And you think of me and smile.

                                                       And perhaps,

Perhaps one day you’ll return from the war,

And one evening come out and join me,

Talk about Longwy, Luttich, Dammerkirch,

Smile gravely, and all will be as it was,

And no one will speak a word of his fear,

Of his fear and tenderness in the field at night,

Of his love. And with some simple humour

You’ll scare off the fear, the war, the anxious nights

The summer lightning of timid male friendship

To a cool nowhere, never to return.

Denken an den Freund bei Nacht

Hermann Hesse, 28 August 1914