The friends who met here and embraced are gone,

Each to his own mistake; one flashes on

To fame and ruin in a rowdy lie,

A village torpor holds the other one,

Some local wrong where it takes time to die:

The empty junction glitters in the sun.

So at all quays and crossroads: who can tell,

O places of decision and farewell,

To what dishonor all adventure leads,

What parting gift could give that friend protection,

So orientated, his salvation needs

The Bad Lands and the sinister direction?

All landscapes and all weathers freeze with fear,

But none have ever thought, the legends say,

The time allowed made it impossible;

For even the most pessimistic set

The limit of their errors at a year.

What friends could there be left then to betray,

What joy take longer to atone for. Yet

Who would complete without extra day

The journey that should take no time at all?