Poetry       Prose       Letters

Georg Trakl


In an Old Family Album

Always you return, melancholy,
O meekness of the lonely soul.
A day glows golden until the end.

Humbly the patient one knuckles down before grief
Resounding with harmony and gentle madness.
See! It grows dark already.

Again night descends and a mortal laments
And another commiserates.

Shuddering under autumn stars
The head bows more deeply each year.


© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt



Poetry       Prose       Letters

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