Grodek

At evening autumn woods resound

With deadly weapons, the golden plains

And blue lakes, above which the sun

More gloomily rolls; night surrounds

Dying warriors, the wild plaint

Of their shattered mouths.

Yet still gathers in the willow grove

Red cloud, wherein a wrathful god resides,

Shed blood to itself, lunar coolness;

All roads end in black rot.

Under golden branches of night and stars

Staggers the sister’s shadow through the silent orchard,

To greet the heroes’ ghosts, the bloody heads;

And easy in the reeds the darkling flute of autumn sounds.

O prouder woe! you brazen altars,

The hot flame of the spirit feeds today a violent grief,

The grandchildren unborn.

Georg Trakl