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sad love poem

wie er wer Geist in der Flamme des Mittages
ich verachte meine Freunde mehr als Sie
das Emporheben, als der Wind brannte durch
wie wild, wie Hexe-wie sonderbares, das das Leben sein sollte
erneuern Sie den Anblick der Freude
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein
ich bin fevered
wer den Regen liebt
als ich in Ihre Augen schaute
ein Schimmer des Goldes in gloom und Grau
gegangen vor uns
singen Sie wieder dem Song Sie gesungen
im September
da ich der Richtung des Todes geglaubt habe

 



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