There is a brown tree that stands alone.
There is a hissing wind that encircles the empty shacks.
How melancholy this evening is.
Near the village
A gentle orphan gathers sparse corn.
Her eyes widen, round and golden in the dusk,
and her womb awaits the heavenly bridegroom.
On their way home
The shepherds found her sweet body
Rotting in the bushes.
I am a shadow far from dark villages---
I drank the silence of God
from a spring in the woods.
Cold metal steps on my forehead.
Spiders search for my heart.
There is a light that dies out in my mouth.
At night I found myself in a pasture,
Rigid with refuse and the dust of stars.
In the hazelbush
Crystal angels kept on ringing.
by Georg Trakl
Translated by Daniel Simko
