Georg Trakl in Translation
IN SPRING The snow sank softly from dark footfalls, In the tree-shadow
Lovers raise their rosy eyelids. Star and night always follow the dark calls Of the boatman;
And the oars gently keep stroke. Soon beside a ruined wall
Violets bloom,
Turning green the temples of the solitary man. BIRTH Mountain ranges: blackness, silence and snow. Red from the forest the hunt returns;
O the mossy looks of the prey. Maternal stillness; beneath black firs
The sleeping hands are open w