A black and rainy evening
With vague feelings of fear
Alive with garish shrieking
Of shots both far and near.
What bring you, laughing soldier
To my heart’s dark command
When I, pensive and sober,
In my own grave do stand
What strange column unmoving
Appears with such dark dread?
— Oh, friends you are still living! —
Death, is your realm not fed?
At home with pious greeting
Loved ones the graves do search
Where are the dead now meeting?
The wind blows o’er the church
Death touches grave and heather
And sings: “This have I done.”
Perhaps from my eyes forever
Night will now hide the sun.
From: http://www.firstworldwar.warpoetry.co.uk/
Date: 1916
By: Robert Ziegel (1895-1916)
Translated by: Peter Appelbaum (?- )