Georg Trakl (3 February 1887 - 3 November 1914 / Salzburg)
In the dark many bird voices call,
The trees and the springs murmur noisily,
In the clouds a rose-colored glow sounds
Like early love's distress. The night blues away -
With shy hands the twilight softly polishes
The love lair, feverishly stirred up,
And lets the drunkenness of languished kisses end
In dreams, smiling and felt half-awake.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.