Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395721" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Helian</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the spirit’s solitary hours<br>It is lovely to walk in the sun<br>Along the yellow walls of summer.<br>Quietly whisper the steps in the grass; yet always sleeps<br>The son of Pan in the grey marble.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At eventide on the terrace we got drunk on brown wine<br>The red peach glows under the foliage.<br>Tender sonata, joyous laughter.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lovely is this silence of the night.<br>On the dark plains<br>We gather with shepherds and the white stars.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When autumn rises<br>The grove is a sight of sober clarity.<br>Along the red walls we loiter at ease<br>And the round eyes follow the flight of birds.<br>In the evening pale water gathers in the dregs of burial urns.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Heaven celebrates, sitting in bare branches.<br>In hallowed hands the yeoman carries bread and wine<br>And fruit ripens in the peace of a sunny chamber.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh how stern is the face of the beloved who have taken their passage.<br>Yet the soul is comforted in righteous meditation.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Overwhelming is the desolated garden‘s secrecy,<br>As the young novice has wreathed his brow with brown leaves,<br>His breath inhales icy gold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The hands touch the antiquity of blueish water <br>Or in a cold night the sisters’ white cheeks.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In quiet and harmony we walk along a suite of hospitable rooms<br>Into solitude and the rustling of maple trees,<br>Where, perhaps, the thrush still sings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beautiful is man and emerging from the dark<br>He marvels as he moves his arms and legs,<br>And his eyes quietly roll in purple cavities.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At suppertime a stranger loses himself in November’s black destitution;<br>Under brittle branches he follows a wall covered under leprosy.<br>Once the holy brother went here,<br>Engrossed in the tender music of his madness.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh how lonely settles the evening-wind.<br>Dying away a man‘s head droops in the dark of the olive tree.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How shattering is the decline of a family.<br>This is the hour when the seer’s eyes are filled<br>With gold as he beholds the stars.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The evening’s descend has muffled the belfry‘s knell in silence;<br>Among black walls in the public place,<br>A dead soldier calls for a prayer.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like a pale angel<br>The son enters his ancestor’s empty house.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sisters have traveled far to the pale ancients.<br>At night, returned from their mournful pilgrimage,<br>He found them asleep under the columns of the hallway.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh hair stained with dung and worms<br>As his silver feet stepped on it<br>And on those who died in echoing rooms.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh you palms under midnight’s burning rain,<br>When the servants flogged those tender eyes with nettles,<br>The hollyhock’s early fruit<br>Beheld your empty grave in wonder.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fading moons sail quietly<br>Over the sheets of the feverish lad,<br>Into the silence of winter.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At the bank of Kidron a great mind is lost in musing,<br>Under a tree, the tender cedar,<br>Stretched out under the father’s blue eyebrows,<br>Where a shepherd drives his flock to pastures at night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or there are screams which escape the sleep;<br>When an iron angel approaches man in the grove,<br>The holy man’s flesh melts over burning coals.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Purple wine climbs about the mud-cottage,<br>Sheaves of faded corn sing;<br>The buzz of bees; the crane’s flight.<br>In the evening the souls of the resurrected gather on rocky paths.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lepers behold their image in dark water;<br>Or they lift the hemp of their dung soiled attire,<br>And weep to the soothing wind, as it drifts down from the rosy hill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Slender maidens grope their way through the narrow lanes of night;<br>They hope for the gracious shepherd.<br>Tenderly, songs ring out from the huts on weekend.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Let the song pay homage to the boy,<br>To his madness to his white eyebrows and to his passage,<br>To the decaying corpse, who opened his blue eyes.<br>Oh how sad is this reunion.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The stairs of madness in black apartments –<br>The matriarch’s shadow emerged under the open door<br>When Helian’s soul beheld his image in a rosy mirror;<br>And from his brow bled snow and leprosy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The walls extinguished the stars<br>And the white effigies of light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From the carpet rise skeletons, escaping their graves,<br>Fallen crosses sit silent on the hill,<br>The night’s purple wind is sweet with frankincense.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh ye broken eyes over black gaping jaws,<br>When the grandson in the solitude<br>Of his tender madness muses over a darker ending,<br>The blue eyelids of the silent god sink upon him.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Georg+Trakl">Georg Trakl</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395721" data-title="Helian de Georg Trakl" data-description="In the spirit’s solitary hours
It is lovely to walk in the sun
Along the yellow walls of summer.
Quietly whisper the steps in the grass; yet always sleeps
The son of Pan in the grey marble.

At eventide on the terrace we got drunk on brown wine
..."></div>
</div>
</div>