Full resolution (TIFF) - On this page / på denna sida - The Mute Book.
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leaf on the student’s cap in the green wood,
when the vow of friendship was concluded for
the whole of life. Where does he now live?
The leaf is preserved; friendship forgotten.
Here is a foreign conservatory-plant, too fine
for the gardens of the North – it looks as if
there still were fragrance in these leaves! – she
gave it to him – she, the young lady of that
noble garden.
Here is the marsh-lotus which he himself
has plucked and watered with salt tears – the
marsh-lotus from the fresh waters. And here
is a nettle: what does its leaf say? What did
he think on plucking it – on preserving it?
Here are lilies of the valley from the woodland
solitudes; here are honeysuckle leaves from the
village ale-house flower-pot; and here the bare,
sharp blade of grass.
The flowering lilac bends its fresh, fragrant
clusters over the dead man’s head; the swallow
again flies past; "quivit! quivit!" Now the
men come with nails and hammer; the lid is
placed over the corpse, whose head rests on the
Mute-Book – preserved – forgotten!
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