That evening the forest of organ pipes did not play. <br />A native cradle sang Schubert for us, <br />The mill was grinding, the music's blue-eyed drunkenness <br />Laughed in the songs of the hurricane. <br /> <br />The brown-green world of the old song, <br />But only eternally young where the Erl-king <br />Shakes the rumbling crowns of nightingaled <br />Linden trees in savage rage. <br /> <br />The awesome force of night's return, <br />That wild song, like black wine: <br />It is a double, a hollow ghost <br />Peering senselessly through the cold window!<br /><br />Osip Emilevich Mandelstam<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/that-evening-the-forest-of-organ-pipes-did-not-play/
