Here's a poem I like, from a book I picked up while traveling.
by Georg Takl (1887-1914)
Trans. Michael Hofmann
Laden with berries the elderbush; placid the childhood
lived out in its blue hollow. The quiet branches are brooding
over the bygone path where lank, brownish grass
whips in the wind; a rustling of leaves
like blue water tumbling over rocks.
The blackbird's soft plaint. Speechless,
a shepherd follows the sun as it rolls from the autumnal hill.
A blue moment is nothing but soul.
A timid deer peeps out from the forest's edge, while ancient bells
and sunless hamlets merge tranquilly with the valley floor.
More pious now, you know the meaning of the dark years,
chill and autumn in lonely rooms;
and in sanctified blue, luminous footfalls echo away.
The soft rattle of an open casement; the sight of
a neglected graveyard on the hillside brings tears to the eyes.
Memories of once-told legends; but the soul will sometimes lighten
when it recalls joyful people, burnt golden days of spring.