In red foliage full of guitars
The girls' yellow hair blows
At the fence, where sunflowers stand.
A golden chariot drives through the clouds.
In the rest of brown shadows
The old grow silent, embrace dim-wittedly.
Orphans sing sweetly for vespers.
Flies buzz in yellow steams.
At the brook the women still wash.
The hung-up linens billow.
The small child, whom I have long liked,
Comes again through evening's grayness.
Sparrows fall from mild skies
Into green holes filled with rottenness.
A smell of bread and harsh spices
Feigns recovery to the hungry one.
Translation copyright © by Jim Doss and Werner Schmitt
Appears in George Trakl: The Last Gold of Expired Stars; Complete Poems 1908-1914 published by Loch Raven Press. Translation used by permission of Jim Doss.