A battle lost in the cornfields
and in the sky a victory.
Birds, the sun and birds again.
By night what will be left of me?
By night, only a row of lamps,
a wall of yellow clay that shines,
and down the garden through the trees,
like candles in a row, the panes;
there I dwelt once and dwell no longer-
I can't live where I once lived, though
the roof there used to cover me.
Lord, you covered me long ago.