I Poem by Georg Trakl

I



A paleness, resting in the shadow of decayed staircases -

It rises at night in silver guise

And wanders under the cloister.

In coolness of a tree and without pain

The perfect breathes

And does not need the autumnal stars -

Thorns over which the other falls.

Lovers ponder long after

His sad fall.

Friday, April 6, 2012
Topic(s) of this poem: silver
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