Poetry       Prose       Letters

Georg Trakl



You are enormous, dark mouth
Within, figure formed
From autumn clouds,
Golden evening stillness;
A greenly dusking mountain stream
In the shadowy area
Of broken pines;
A village
That dies off devoutly in brown images.

There black horses leap
On the misty meadow.
You soldiers!
The laughing blood falls
From the hill where the sun rolls dying -
Under oaks! O resentful dejection
Of the army; a radiant helmet
Sank rattling from a purple forehead.

Autumn night comes so cool,
Over broken bones of men
The silent monkess
Gleams with stars.


© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt



Poetry       Prose       Letters

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