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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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