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autumn poem

was spiteful Wahrscheinlichkeit unawares stiehlt
warum so traurig mein reizendes?
wie er wer Geist in der Flamme des Mittages
ich liebe mein Leben, aber nicht zu gut
ich habe eine Furcht in meinem Leben gehabt
sie kennt eine preiswerte Freigabe
die Dichter sagen
ich war eine Göttin, ere der Marmor mich fand
ich sah, daß Sie und shivering auf den Steinen hunched
herrlich und schrecklich Ihre Liebe

 



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