The floating clouds move above loftily,
my gaze followed them in monotony.
Then slowly the river’s water flows behind.
What did the anglers over there have in mind?

Then a wind blows by now, and the breeze engorges;
and before my eyes, a picture emerges:

An angel with golden hair,
blows flying in the air,
with eyes that twinkle like stars,
an angel here before me stands.

Quietly, the grass now shimmers.
The waves splash, and birds twitter somewhere
Right there a train pulls over,
Now, I would not prefer to be elsewhere…

The warm sun shines; I closed the eyes of mine,
when I started hearing steps, and now before me, so saccharine:

An angel with golden hair
gently hovers in the clear air;
with eyes that, with warmth, shine;
an angel lifts her head in front of mine.

Only a low-noise echo of the train remains,
before the silence returns again.
There behind is a castle, almost nearby;
I am right on my way there, it is close by.

Do I hear steps, or is just my imagination?
I hear it as clear as the unprecedented:

An angel with golden hair
comes straight to me
with eyes that twinkle like stars.
An angel—which would be you.