der - Popular Poems and stories from category

She combs her hair, like the dead are combed,
She carries the blue fragments under her robe
She bears the fragment-world on a single skein
She knows the words, but she only beams

Im Hofe steht ein Pflaumenbaum,
Der ist so klein, man glaubt es kaum
Er hat ein Gitter drum,
So tritt ihn keiner um

There lies the heat of
On your cheek’s lovely art:
There lies the cold of
Within your little heart

The Tattered
The tattered cordcan again become knotted
It holdsbut it is torn
Perhaps we'll face each other againbut there,where you left me,you'll not meet meagain

«Граф фон дер Пален»
— Руки на плечах
Глаза в глаза, рот иссиня-бескровный
—