Georg Trakl
De Profundis
There is a stubble field on which a black rain falls. There is a tree which, brown, stands lonely here. There is a hissing wind which haunts deserted huts – How sad this evening.
Klage
Dreamless sleep – the dusky Eagles Nightlong rush about my head, Man’s golden image drowned In timeless icy tides. On jagged reefs His purpling body. Dark Echoes sound above the seas. Stormy sadness’ sister,