Georg Trakl
The Evening

Moon, with dead heroic figures
You fulfill
The silent forests,
Sickle moon -
With the soft embrace
Of lovers,
The shadows of famous ages
All around the moldering rocks;
So bluishly it shines
Against the city
Where cold and evil
A decaying race dwells,
Preparing the dark future
Of white grandchildren.
You moon-engulfed shadows
Sighing in the empty crystal
Of the mountain lake.