a hunter is quietly stalking.
So silent his steps and shapeless his shadow
and no human roads he is walking.
So be careful! watch out! the leaves seem to whisper
in the trees and the woods' thickest parts.
The birds seem to chirp: There is no place to hide,
he is here! He is evil and smart.
Who can say where he came from, who can say what he's seeking,
a shiver of doom in his wake?
Is he human? an animal, is he a ghost?
No one e'er saw his face or his shape.
So be careful! watch out! her mother had warned her
when she walked to the woods all alone.
And lightly she danced over dead leaves and flowers
like a bird that takes wing and is gone.
And she asked in the silence: "Oh, why are you hiding
and prowling about without rest, every night?
I don't know the darkness, I am young, I am fearless,
I've spent all the days of my life in the sun’s joyful light."
And as she is standing, aquiver with silence,
the shadows amass in the darkling heart of the grove.
Still like a doe she beholds and she knows him,
the hunter, the hunter who's said to eternally rove -
his eyes full of ravenous hunger,
his features distorted and mad.
It pierces her heart in a moment,
a moment unbearably sad. . .
Oh, she went to the woods, to the shadowy grove
like a bird, with a heart full of joy.
She caught sight of the shadows, the hunger and pain,
all the things that break wings and destroy.
They say, in the woods, in the darkness of nighttime
still the hunter is stalking for prey.
And they say: what is joy? what is youth? what is life,
it's so easily taken away.