Otto Julius Bierbaum (1865–1910)

A KNIGHT rode through the ripened grain,

No spurs he had and loose his rein.

The horse that feasted on his walk

Snatched many a ripe and yellow stalk.

The dazzling summer sunlight’s beam

Upon the black steel cast a gleam,

Upon the horseman’s armour rough.

One word was on his shield: “Enough.”

His lance stayed crosswise all the way,

His iron hand upon it lay.

When to a spring his course had led,

He took the helmet off his head,

He knelt upon the stony sand,

Drew water with his iron hand.

And then he let the water go,

And tenderly he watched its flow:

“My heart in fight and fray was hot,

And love at all times left me not.

Now home I ride with gentle pace,

And bring a smile upon my face:

Enough.”