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black poetry

der Schnee whispers über mich
wickeln Sie die Masse im bewölkten Wetter auf
Sonne trat unten von seinem goldenen Throne
dunkel-eyed
diese alte silberne Schüssel von meinen
O angemessen und stately Mädchen, dessen Augen
warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
aus dem funkelnden Meer heraus
erneuern Sie den Anblick der Freude
Vögel gegen den Aprilwind
ich sehe einen Stern heute abend

 



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