Ballad (1)
A heart laments: you do not find her,
Her native country is probably far from here,
And her face is strange!
The night weeps by a door!
In the marble hall light upon light burns,
O stuffy, o stuffy! Somebody dies here!
A whisper somewhere: o do you not come?
The night weeps by a door!
A sobbing still: o that he would see the light!
Then it became dark there and here -
A sobbing: brother, o do you not pray?
The night weeps by a door.
Georg Trakl
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