Poetry       Prose       Letters

Georg Trakl


In the Park

Again wandering in the old park,
O! stillness of yellow and red flowers.
You mourn also, you gentle gods,
And the autumn gold of the elm.
In the bluish pond the reeds rise
Motionless, the thrush falls silent in the evening.
O! then bend your forehead also
Before the crumbling marble of ancestors.


© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt



Poetry       Prose       Letters

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