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.

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"I by Georg Trakl" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 16 Jan. 2019. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/14724>.

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