Declíno (trad. por Luís Costa) - Georg Trakl

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Sob o arco obscuro da nossa melancolia brincam, à noite, as sombras dos anjos mortos. Por cima do regato branco as aves selvagens partiram. Absortos, debaixo dos salgueiros brancos, as nossas faces acariciam estrelas amareladas. A testa das noites passadas inclina-se sobre nós. O rosto dos túmulos brancos fita-nos sempre.

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adriele1609 1 year, 2 months ago
Sob o arco obscuro da nossa melancolia brincam, à noite, as sombras dos anjos mortos. Por cima do regato branco as aves selvagens partiram. Absortos, debaixo dos salgueiros brancos, as nossas faces acariciam estrelas amareladas. A testa das noites passadas inclina-se sobre nós. O rosto dos túmulos brancos fita-nos sempre.

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