In the pleasant time of Pentecost, br By the little river Kyll, br I followed the angler's winding path br Or waded the stream at will, br And the friendly fertile German land br Lay round me green and still. br br But all day long on the eastern bank br Of the river cool and clear, br Where the curving track of the double rails br Was hardly seen though near, br The endless trains of German troops br Went rolling down to Trier. br br They packed the windows with bullet heads br And caps of hodden gray; br They laughed and sang and shouted loud br When the trains were brought to a stay; br They waved their hands and sang again br As they went on their iron way. br br No shadow fell on the smiling land, br No cloud arose in the sky; br I could hear the river's quiet tune br When the trains had rattled by; br But my heart sank low with a heavy sense br Of trouble,--I knew not why. br br Then came I into a certain field br Where the devil's paint-brush spread br 'Mid the gray and green of the rolling hills br A flaring splotch of red,-- br An evil omen, a bloody sign, br And a token of many dead. br br I saw in a vision the field-gray horde br Break forth at the devil's hour, br And trample the earth into crimson mud br In the rage of the Will to Power,-- br All this I dreamed in the valley of Kyll, br At the sign of the blood-red flower.