Franz Xaver Kappus (May 17, 1883 – October 09, 1966)
Through my life there trembles, without complaint
or sighs, a deep, dark pain.
My dreams of pure snowblossoms
consecrate the stillest day.
But oft my path encounters
the great question. I become small
and cold, like a lake
whose waters I dare not measure.
Then a sorrow overcomes me, a sorrow
like the dullest gray of summer nights
through which but one star shines.
My hands reach out for love
and I would gladly pray out loud
words my fevered tongue can’t find.