The black snow which runs off the roofs;
A red finger dips into your forehead
Blue snow sinks in the bleak room,
The deceased mirror of lovers.
The head breaks in heavy pieces and ponders
After the shadows in the mirror of blue snow,
The cold smile of a dead strumpet.
In the smell of carnations the evening wind weeps.
Georg Trakl
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/delirium-17/
