Poetry       Prose       Letters

Georg Trakl


Autumn Soul

Hunter's call and bloody baying;
Behind cross and brown hill
The pond-mirror gently blinds,
The hawk cries harsh and clear.

Over stubble field and path
A black silence already brings fear;
Pure sky in the branches;
Only the brook trickles still and calm.

Soon fish and deer slip away.
Blue soul, dark wandering
Separated us soon from loves, others.
Evening changes sense and image.

Bread and wine of the righteous life,
God in your mild hands
Man lays the dark end,
All guilt and red anguish.


© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt



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