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sad poem

unter meinem Fenster in einer Stadtstraße
ruhig mit reverance, im Awe
niedrig! ' tis ein Galanacht
wenn die Stunden des Tages numeriert werden
Sturm
sehr gut Sie Liberale
Melancholie, Blau war sie
dunkelstes, merkwürdigstes Geheimnis
stieg und Bernstein war der Sonnenuntergang auf dem Fluß
lassen Sie uns errichten
hören Sie zum klingenden Meer
wie das Glätten fällt


 



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