Georg Trakl (3 February 1887 - 3 November 1914 / Salzburg)

Come evening, friend, who surrounds my forehead with darkness

Gliding on paths through soft-green sowing.

Also willows beckon solemnly and calmly;

A beloved voice whispers in the branches.

The tranquil wind floats beautiful things here from somewhere,

Scent of daffodils which silverly touches you.

In the hazel bush the blackbird makes music -

A shepherd's song gives answer from the firs.

How long the small house has disappeared

Where now a birch copse gushes;

The pond bears a lonely constellation -

And shadows rounding silently in the goldenness!

And time is so miraculous,

That one looks for angels in human glances

Which delight in innocent play.

Yes! Time is so miraculous.