Poetry       Prose       Letters

Georg Trakl


The Rats

In the courtyard the autumn moon shines white.
From the eaves phantom-like shadows fall.
A silence dwells in empty windows;
Then the rats dip quietly upstairs

And scurry whistling here and there
And a grayish whiff of vapor drifts
After them from the outhouse,
Through which moonlight trembles ghostly,

And they nag as if mad from greed
And crowd house and barns
Filled with corn and fruits.
Icy winds whine in the darkness.


© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt



Poetry       Prose       Letters

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