Hölderlin at the River

The ice again in my sleep it was following someone
   it thought was me in the dark and I recognized its white tongue
it held me in its freezing radiance until I
   was the only tree there and I broke and carried
my limbs down through dark rocks calling to the summer
   where are you where will you be how could I have missed you
gold skin the still pond shining under the eglantines
   warm peach hanging in my palm at noon among flowers
all the way I was looking for you and I had nothing to show
   until the last day of the world then far below I could see
the great valley as night fell the one ray withdrawing
   like the note of a horn and afterwards black wind took
all I knew but here is the foreign morning with its clouds
   sailing on water beyond the black trembling poplars
the sky breathless around its blinding fire and the white flocks
   in water meadows on the far shore are flowing past their
silent shepherds only once now I hear the hammer
   ring on the anvil and where I cannot see it
a bird of the ice is singing of its own country
   if any of this remains it will not be me