Romantic Journey

Thousands of stars twinkle in the gentle sky. The landscape glows.    From the distant meadow Mute marching men slowly come closer. Only once a young Lieutenant, a page boy in love, Steps out - and stands lost in thought. The baggage train waddles along at the rear. The moon makes everything much stranger. And now and then the drivers cry out: Stop! High up on the shakiest munitions truck, Like a little toad, finely chiseled Out of black wood, hands gently clenched, On his back the rifle, gently buckled, A smoking cigar in his crooked mouth, Lazy as a monk, needy as a dog - He had pressed drops of valerian on his heart - In the yellow moon, ridiculously mad, Kuno sits.