In the evening hours of fog
It flies in the vortex and heat
Winged Angel from the pages of the Koran
Per deathly me.
Mind is full of languid impotence,
The soul flies, flies…
Around noisy countless wings,
And the secret song rings.
3 June 1900
In the evening hours of fog
It flies in the vortex and heat
Winged Angel from the pages of the Koran
Per deathly me.
Mind is full of languid impotence,
The soul flies, flies…
Around noisy countless wings,
And the secret song rings.
3 June 1900
