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romantic poetry

ich sagte, ich habe geschlossen mein Herz
ein süß ernster Gedanke
Schlaf, grauer Bruder des Todes
die Schiffe liegen in der Bucht
gibt es jedes dort
fette schwarze Dollars in einem Wein-Faßraum
in allen Sachen gesprochen nicht von
durch die rude Brücke
grünes Nachmittagsserene und hell
unter dusky Lorbeerblatt
zum leidenschaftlichen Geliebten
er warfen einen Stein, Sie warfen einen Stein

 



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