Go bring me a mug of your very best ale,
Bad ale can drag a man down.

The lord of the castle a bold knight was he,
He started to London the Queen for to see.

His cloak it was velvet for a grand lord was he,
He rode a white charger, his squires they were three.

Esau, shaggy, blessed with the fragrance of the field, I owe you an ancient debt; it lies sunken in my depth, burried in my interred treasures...
Esau, hushed, behind your back quietly I sucked the flavors of your fate, the potent beverage of you, Esau, redolent of fields .
Esau, hairy, with blind father's blessing on jungle-head mild and fair — do not dun me now...Do not dun me now...Drop by drop it has sunk in my hoary sadness. Drop by drop it has oozed out with all my countless souls on the ashes of the route, on the ashes of existence...

O that I might finish my slender little fiddle that I carve and hew a whole morning. Out of matchboxes with feverish fingers, I carve and hew it the whole morning .
Fierce tempest, wait awhile on the other side, I still have to shape the lower part. And you, Death, stay at the threshold in vigilance, I have yet to polish the top-piece .
Now to insert tiny pegs in the smooth frail neck and draw fine hair throughout its length. The murderous band is revelling in the neighboring courtyard and my door is already caught by their glance .

Perish, perish, my outcry — you will anyway not be heard in heaven... Night has swung the crescent, like a knife against the throat of the earth...
Soon stillness will begin to suffocate with the excited bark of dogs... But night will not cease to slay, yet no one will come to aid...
So, before whom, before whom shall I kneel down now praying for mercy for me and for you — when frightened stars hide themselves in the steely wrinkles of the river?

O blue, blazing region, with vividness of dream thrust upon the world — around the grey spool of your roads I wound my days .
And who will dissolve that woe, and what can ease my sentiment for the savage hissing of your snows that cooled my eastern blood?
At the clear call of your banner's I dared with my body and heart, but you crucified my obstinacy with the tender fingers of a cleaver ...
So I did not wish that Sunrise should crown your sky-rim, when my unprotected dwelling-place flecked with fire-brands your nights .

My soil lies thirsty and hot, with parched and languishing lips — blue spring did not shake out over her the blessed rain-holding sieves .
The clear summer failed to resound over her with lightning nd thundering bugle .
— Ah, in vain, in vain do fields yearn for a sated song of ripe rye .
Not a sated but a hungry melody to creviced ears of fences ... And the arms of the windmills stiffen — arms wrung in anguish...

I shall not hang my harp on trees — to all winds is given its sound. Even in my dream I possess no land of honey and milk any more .
In my soul a little mouse scratches — either father's or grandfather's tune; but the door of my own Sabbath the weekdays have bolted with a star .
Grind me, grind me to a granule, grinding stones of all time, if only thus the morning star will ripen like an apple .

Cold, bubbling beauty of white, wintry waters pours down, pours over my holy, July mood. Peasants at harvest sing preparedness for the winter. The inkwell on my table glows with sun-blue desires for singing. The summery silken curtains on the rods sing to end the last summerwinds over the basket of hyacinths at my feet.

I chase the kid into the pasture to graze at ease — the white kid that I bought for two silver coins, for two silver coins.
But the kid wanders off through the meadows and I follow. Through old forests, through vacant fields we stray the entire week, the entire week.
And on Friday, at noon, the kid halts of a sudden, and I see: a land, far away, outspread in blue light, in blue light.
A land — a land where hinds are hovering on every hillock, where the buffalo sleeps at the side of the weasel; a land — a land, tremulous, dreamy, that may vanish at the slightest touch.

O foremost, most wonderful among cities! You dominate with your railroads and factories, and stone buildings, tunnels, ships and bridges. Your breath — steam and electricity.
Magnet-like, you draw and draw unto yourself and vampire-like you suck with your glances. Pale, like your sky, your imbedded Hudson flows by factories and huge walls.
How marvelous your sorcery and intoxication! How blind your day on your hard steel breast! How light your night! How unfettered your lust!