Jena: At the Staiger
Delicate hangs the rime, and fragile,
above the tall tunnel of trees.
Westward fades the winter sun
her pale red rays melt into the snow.
The Staiger leads you, then, over stiles and stairs -
the hill is wrapped round in a veil of mist - ,
but when you ´ve climbed up the very last steps,
you ´re deafened by an icy stillness.
(Englische Nachdichtung: Derek Donaldson)