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romantic poetry

seien Sie nicht mit mir verärgert
wie ich innen roofed liege, innen aussortiert
mittlere Vergnügen und Paläste, obwohl wir durchstreifen können
über dem Fluß winken sie zu mir zu
in den mournful Zahlen
sehen Sie, sie zurückgehen
Farbtöne der Nacht fielen schnell
stern kalter Mann
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
Nacht ist dunkel und die Winterwinde
noch dreizehn Jahre
ich sterbe
es gibt eine Stunde des ruhigen Restes

 



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