Black milk of morning we drink you at dusktime / we drink you at noontime and dawntime we drink you at night / we drink and drink / we scoop out a grave in the sky where it’s roomy to lie / There’s a man in this house who cultivates snakes and who writes / who writes when it’s nightfall nach Deutschland your golden hair Margareta / he writes it and walks from the house and the stars all start flashing he whistles his / dogs to draw near / whistles his Jews to appear starts us scooping a grave out of sand / he commands us to play for the dance / Black milk of morning we drink you at night / we drink you at dawntime and noontime we drink you at dusktime / we drink and drink / There’s a man in this house who cultivates snakes and who writes / who writes when it’s nightfall nach Deutschland your golden hair Margareta / your ashen hair Shulamite we scoop out a grave in the sky where it’s roomy to lie / He calls jab it deep in the soil you lot there you other men sing and play / he tugs at the sword in his belt he swings it his eyes are blue / jab your spades deeper you men you other men you others play up again for the dance / Black milk of morning we drink you at night / we drink you at noontime and dawntime we drink you at dusktime / we drink and drink / there’s a man in this house your golden hair Margareta / your ashen hair Shulamite he cultivates snakes / He calls play that death thing more sweetly Death is a gang-boss aus Deutschland / he calls scrape that fiddle more darkly then hover like smoke in the air / then scoop out a grave in the clouds where it’s roomy to lie / Black milk of morning we drink you at night / we drink you at noontime Death is a gang-boss aus Deutschland / we drink you at dusktime and dawntime we drink and drink / Death is a gang-boss aus Deutschland his eye is blue / he shoots you with leaden bullets his aim is true / there’s a man in this house your golden hair Margareta / he sets his dogs on our trail he gives us a grave in the sky / he cultivates snakes and he dreams Death is a gang-boss aus Deutschland / your golden hair Margareta / your ashen hair Shulamite

Snowfall, denser and denser, / dove-coloured as yesterday, / snowfall, as if even now you were sleeping. / White, stacked into distance. / Above it, endless, / the sleigh track of the lost. / Below, hidden, / presses up / what so hurts the eyes, / hill upon hill, / invisible. / On each, / fetched home into its today, / an I slipped away into dumbness: / wooden, a post. / There: a feeling, / blown across by the ice wind / attaching its dove- its snow- / coloured cloth as a flag.