Sonett für Wien
Sonnet for Vienna


O city, psalm intoned by the breath of God
and become stone, marble, park and garden,
poem and song from the sweetest tongues of angels
who’d waited long for your golden churches,
within, all the saints strangely subdued
by their stance in frozen radiance.
City of fountains sprung from ancient stone,
baroque buildings, noble banners
fluttering above impressive processions.

You, city where the clamour of bygone ages
still resounds, where antique gold still gleams,
where the sombre, holy pictures live
and God’s eye, from the green distance
of the mountains, radiates a gentle, tear-stained melancholy.