Untitled: The Blue Night
The blue night has softly risen on our foreheads.
Quietly our putrid hands touch
Sweet bride!
Our countenance became pale, moony pearls
Melted in green pond-ground.
Petrified ones, we contemplate our stars.
O painful! Culprits wander in the garden
The shadows in wild embrace,
So that tree and animal sank about them in immense anger.
Soft harmonies, when we ride
through the still night in crystalline waves
A rosy angel steps from the graves of the lovers.
poem by Georg Trakl
Added by Poetry Lover
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