Evening Walk
I go into the evening,
The wind jogs along and sings:
You are bewitched by every light,
O feel, what struggles with you!
A dead woman's voice that I loved
Speaks: poor is the fools' heart!
Forget, forget what clouds the soul!
The becoming shall be your pain!
poem by Georg Trakl
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
