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lost love poem

in den Wolke-grauen Morgen
nicht von der breiten Welt des Ganzen
im September
ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
erneuern Sie den Anblick der Freude
ein Schimmer des Goldes in gloom und Grau
es gibt eine Stadt, builded durch keine Hand
vor langer Zeit im jungen Moonlight
ein dünner grauer Schatten auf dem Rand des Gedankens
weich als das Bett in der Masse
kein Opfer sind ich der schlechten Gedanken
wie wie die Sterne dieses Weiß ist, namenlose Gesichter
in Ihrem Flug

 



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