The wind, which moves purple treetops,
Is God's breath that comes and goes.
The black village rises before the forest;
Three shadows are laid over the field.
Meagerly the valley dusks
Below and silent for the humble.
A seriousness greets in garden and hall,
That wants to finish the day,
Piously and darkly an organ-sound.
Marie is enthroned there in blue vestment
And cradles her babe in hand.
The night is starlit and long.
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Comments about this poem (Always Darker by Georg Trakl )
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