The Poems of Goethe by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (10 best novels of all time .TXT) 📕

TO HIS COY ONE.

SEEST thou yon smiling Orange? Upon the tree still hangs it; Already March bath vanish'd, And new-born flow'rs are shooting. I draw nigh to the tree then, And there I say: Oh Orange, Thou ripe and juicy Orange, Thou sweet and luscious Orange, I shake the tree, I shake it, Oh fall into my lap!

NIGHT THOUGHTS.

OH, unhappy stars! your fate I mourn,

Ye by whom the sea-toss'd sailor's lighted, Who with radiant beams the heav'ns adorn,

But by gods and men are unrequited: For ye love not,--ne'er have learnt to love! Ceaselessly in endless dance ye move, In the spacious sky your charms displaying,

What far travels ye have hasten'd through, Since, within my loved one's arms delaying,

I've forgotten you and midnight too!

TO LIDA.

THE only one whom, Lida, thou canst love,

Thou claim'st, and rightly claim'st, for only thee; He too is wholly thine; since doomed to rove

Far from thee, in life's turmoils nought I see Save a thin veil, through which thy form I view, As though in clouds; with kindly smile and true,

It cheers me, like the stars eterne that gleam Across the northern-lights' far-flick'ring beam.

PROXIMITY.

I KNOW not, wherefore, dearest love,

Thou often art so strange and coy When 'mongst man's busy haunts we move,

Thy coldness puts to flight my joy. But soon as night and silence round us reign, I know thee by thy kisses sweet again!

RECIPROCAL.

MY mistress, where sits she?

What is it that charms? The absent she's rocking,

Held fast in her arms.

In pretty cage prison'd

She holds a bird still; Yet lets him fly from her,

Whenever he will.

He pecks at her finger,

And pecks at her lips, And hovers and flutters,

And round her he skips.

Then hasten thou homeward,

In fashion to be; If thou hast the maiden,

She also hath thee.

ROLLICKING HANS.

HALLO there! A glass!

Ha! the draught's truly sweet! If for drink go my shoes,

I shall still have my feet.

A maiden and wine,

With sweet music and song,-- I would they were mine,

All life's journey along!

If I depart from this sad sphere, And leave a will behind me here, A suit at law will be preferr'd, But as for thanks,--the deuce a word! So ere I die, I squander all, And that a proper will I call.

HIS COMRADE.

Hallo there! A glass!

Ha! the draught's truly sweet If thou keepest thy shoes,

Thou wilt then spare thy feet.

A maiden and wine,

With sweet music and song, On pavement, are thine,

All life's journey along!

THE FREEBOOTER,

No door has my house,

No house has my door; And in and out ever

I carry my store.

No grate has my kitchen,

No kitchen my grate; Yet roasts it and boils it

Both early and late.

My bed has no trestles,

My trestles no bed; Yet merrier moments

No mortal e'er led.

My cellar is lofty,

My barn is full deep, From top to the bottom,--

There lie I and sleep.

And soon as I waken,

All moves on its race; My place has no fixture,

My fixture no place.

JOY AND SORROW.

As a fisher-boy I fared

To the black rock in the sea, And, while false gifts I prepared.

Listen'd and sang merrily, Down descended the decoy,

Soon a fish attack'd the bait; One exultant shout of joy,--

And the fish was captured straight.

Ah! on shore, and to the wood

Past the cliffs, o'er stock and stone, One foot's traces I pursued,

And the maiden was alone. Lips were silent, eyes downcast

As a clasp-knife snaps the bait, With her snare she seized me fast,

And the boy was captured straight.

Heav'n knows who's the happy swain

That she rambles with anew! I must dare the sea again,

Spite of wind and weather too. When the great and little fish

Wail and flounder in my net, Straight returns my eager wish

In her arms to revel yet!

MARCH.

THE snow-flakes fall in showers,

The time is absent still, When all Spring's beauteous flowers, When all Spring's beauteous flowers

Our hearts with joy shall fill.

With lustre false and fleeting

The sun's bright rays are thrown; The swallow's self is cheating: The swallow's self is cheating,

And why? He comes alone!

Can I e'er feel delighted

Alone, though Spring is near? Yet when we are united, Yet when we are united,

The Summer will be here.

APRIL.

TELL me, eyes, what 'tis ye're seeking;

For ye're saying something sweet,

Fit the ravish'd ear to greet, Eloquently, softly speaking.

Yet I see now why ye're roving;

For behind those eyes so bright,

To itself abandon'd quite, Lies a bosom, truthful, loving,--

One that it must fill with pleasure

'Mongst so many, dull and blind,

One true look at length to find, That its worth can rightly treasure.

Whilst I'm lost in studying ever

To explain these cyphers duly,--

To unravel my looks truly In return be your endeavour!

MAY.

LIGHT and silv'ry cloudlets hover

In the air, as yet scarce warm; Mild, with glimmer soft tinged over,

Peeps the sun through fragrant balm. Gently rolls and heaves the ocean

As its waves the bank o'erflow. And with ever restless motion

Moves the verdure to and fro,

Mirror'd brightly far below.

What is now the foliage moving?

Air is still, and hush'd the breeze, Sultriness, this fullness loving,

Through the thicket, from the trees. Now the eye at once gleams brightly,

See! the infant band with mirth Moves and dances nimbly, lightly,

As the morning gave it birth,

Flutt'ring two and two o'er earth.

JUNE.

SHE behind yon mountain lives, Who my love's sweet guerdon gives. Tell me, mount, how this can be! Very glass thou seem'st to me, And I seem to be close by, For I see her drawing nigh; Now, because I'm absent, sad, Now, because she sees me, glad!

Soon between us rise to sight Valleys cool, with bushes light, Streams and meadows; next appear

Mills and wheels, the surest token That a level spot is near,

Plains far-stretching and unbroken. And so onwards, onwards roam, To my garden and my home!

But how comes it then to pass? All this gives no joy, alas!-- I was ravish'd by her sight, By her eyes so fair and bright, By her footstep soft and light. How her peerless charms I praised, When from head to foot I gazed! I am here, she's far away,-- I am gone, with her to stay.

If on rugged hills she wander,

If she haste the vale along, Pinions seem to flutter yonder,

And the air is fill'd with song; With the glow of youth still playing,

Joyous vigour in each limb, One in silence is delaying,

She alone 'tis blesses him.

Love, thou art too fair, I ween! Fairer I have never seen! From the heart full easily Blooming flowers are cull'd by thee. If I think: "Oh, were it so," Bone and marrow seen to glow! If rewarded by her love, Can I greater rapture prove?

And still fairer is the bride, When in me she will confide, When she speaks and lets me know All her tale of joy and woe. All her lifetime's history Now is fully known to me. Who in child or woman e'er Soul and body found so fair?

NEXT YEAR'S SPRING.

THE bed of flowers

Loosens amain, The beauteous snowdrops

Droop o'er the plain. The crocus opens

Its glowing bud, Like emeralds others,

Others, like blood. With saucy gesture

Primroses flare, And roguish violets,

Hidden with care; And whatsoever

There stirs and strives, The Spring's contented,

If works and thrives.

'Mongst all the blossoms

That fairest are, My sweetheart's sweetness

Is sweetest far; Upon me ever

Her glances light, My song they waken,

My words make bright, An ever open

And blooming mind, In sport, unsullied,

In earnest, kind. Though roses and lilies

By Summer are brought, Against my sweetheart

Prevails he nought.

AT MIDNIGHT HOUR.

[Goethe relates that a remarkable situation he was in one bright moonlight night led to the composition of this sweet song, which was "the dearer to him because he could not say whence it came and whither it would."]

AT midnight hour I went, not willingly,

A little, little boy, yon churchyard past, To Father Vicar's house; the stars on high

On all around their beauteous radiance cast,

And when, in journeying o'er the path of life,

My love I follow'd, as she onward moved, With stars and northern lights o'er head in strife,

Going and coming, perfect bliss I proved

Until at length the full moon, lustre-fraught,

Burst thro' the gloom wherein she was enshrined; And then the willing, active, rapid thought

Around the past, as round the future twined,

TO THE RISING FULL MOON.

Dornburg, 25th August, 1828.

WILT thou suddenly enshroud thee,

Who this moment wert so nigh? Heavy rising masses cloud thee,

Thou art hidden from mine eye.

Yet my sadness thou well knowest,

Gleaming sweetly as a star! That I'm loved,