Poetry       Prose       Letters

Georg Trakl


Decline of Summer

The green summer has grown
So gentle, your crystalline countenance.
By the evening pond the flowers died,
A frightened call of a blackbird.

Futile hope of life. Already the swallow
In the house prepares for the journey
And the sun sinks at the hill;
The night already beckons the starry journey.

Stillness of villages; the abandoned forests
Resound all around. Heart,
Now bend more tenderly
Over the tranquil sleeping woman.

The green summer has grown
So gentle; and the stranger's footstep
Rings through the silver night.
May a blue deer remember his path,

The harmony of his spiritual years!


© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt



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