These fair limbs, of size so massive,Of colossal womanhood,Now are, in a yielding mood,Under my embraces passive.Had I, with unbridled passion,Trusting in my strength drawn near,I had soon had cause for fear!She had thrashed me in strange fashion.How her bosom, neck, throat charm me(Higher I can scarcely see);Ere alone I’d with her be,Pray I that she may not harm me.
These fair limbs, of size so massive,Of colossal womanhood,Now are, in a yielding mood,Under my embraces passive.Had I, with unbridled passion,Trusting in my strength drawn near,I had soon had cause for fear!She had thrashed me in strange fashion.How her bosom, neck, throat charm me(Higher I can scarcely see);Ere alone I’d with her be,Pray I that she may not harm me.
These fair limbs, of size so massive,Of colossal womanhood,Now are, in a yielding mood,Under my embraces passive.
Had I, with unbridled passion,Trusting in my strength drawn near,I had soon had cause for fear!She had thrashed me in strange fashion.
How her bosom, neck, throat charm me(Higher I can scarcely see);Ere alone I’d with her be,Pray I that she may not harm me.
’Twas in the Bay of BiscayThat she first saw the light;Two kittens in the cradleShe squeezed to death outright.Across the Pyrenees sheWith feet uncover’d ran;Then for her size giganticWas shown at Perpignan.She’s now the grandest dame inThe Faubourg Saint-Denis,Where unto small Sir WilliamSome thousand pounds costs she.
’Twas in the Bay of BiscayThat she first saw the light;Two kittens in the cradleShe squeezed to death outright.Across the Pyrenees sheWith feet uncover’d ran;Then for her size giganticWas shown at Perpignan.She’s now the grandest dame inThe Faubourg Saint-Denis,Where unto small Sir WilliamSome thousand pounds costs she.
’Twas in the Bay of BiscayThat she first saw the light;Two kittens in the cradleShe squeezed to death outright.
Across the Pyrenees sheWith feet uncover’d ran;Then for her size giganticWas shown at Perpignan.
She’s now the grandest dame inThe Faubourg Saint-Denis,Where unto small Sir WilliamSome thousand pounds costs she.
Often when I am with thee,Much-beloved and noble lady,The remembrance steals o’er meOf Bologna’s market shady.There a massive fount doth stand—’Tis the Giants’ Fountain pretty—With a Neptune, by the handOf Giovanni of that city.
Often when I am with thee,Much-beloved and noble lady,The remembrance steals o’er meOf Bologna’s market shady.There a massive fount doth stand—’Tis the Giants’ Fountain pretty—With a Neptune, by the handOf Giovanni of that city.
Often when I am with thee,Much-beloved and noble lady,The remembrance steals o’er meOf Bologna’s market shady.There a massive fount doth stand—’Tis the Giants’ Fountain pretty—With a Neptune, by the handOf Giovanni of that city.
Once I thought each kiss a womanGives us, or receives instead,By some influence superhumanWas from old predestinèd.I both took and gave back willingKisses then as earnestlyAs if I were but fulfillingActions of necessity.Kisses are superfluous,—this IHave discover’d on life’s stage,And with small concern now kiss I,Heedless of the surplusage.
Once I thought each kiss a womanGives us, or receives instead,By some influence superhumanWas from old predestinèd.I both took and gave back willingKisses then as earnestlyAs if I were but fulfillingActions of necessity.Kisses are superfluous,—this IHave discover’d on life’s stage,And with small concern now kiss I,Heedless of the surplusage.
Once I thought each kiss a womanGives us, or receives instead,By some influence superhumanWas from old predestinèd.
I both took and gave back willingKisses then as earnestlyAs if I were but fulfillingActions of necessity.
Kisses are superfluous,—this IHave discover’d on life’s stage,And with small concern now kiss I,Heedless of the surplusage.
Beside the corner of the streetWe stood in fond communionFor full an hour, and talked aboutOur spirits’ loving union.We loved each other—this we saidA hundred times repeating;Beside the corner of the streetWe stood, and went on greeting.The Goddess of Occasion, briskAs waiting maids, and sprightly,Pass’d by that way and saw us standAnd smiled, and went on lightly.
Beside the corner of the streetWe stood in fond communionFor full an hour, and talked aboutOur spirits’ loving union.We loved each other—this we saidA hundred times repeating;Beside the corner of the streetWe stood, and went on greeting.The Goddess of Occasion, briskAs waiting maids, and sprightly,Pass’d by that way and saw us standAnd smiled, and went on lightly.
Beside the corner of the streetWe stood in fond communionFor full an hour, and talked aboutOur spirits’ loving union.
We loved each other—this we saidA hundred times repeating;Beside the corner of the streetWe stood, and went on greeting.
The Goddess of Occasion, briskAs waiting maids, and sprightly,Pass’d by that way and saw us standAnd smiled, and went on lightly.
In all my dreams by daytime,In all my watchings nightly,Thy sweet delicious laughterRings through my spirit lightly.Remember’st Montmorency,Where, on the donkey riding,Thou fell’st among the thistles,From off the saddle gliding?The ass stood still, the thistlesDemurely looking after,—I never shall forget, love,Thy sweet delicious laughter.
In all my dreams by daytime,In all my watchings nightly,Thy sweet delicious laughterRings through my spirit lightly.Remember’st Montmorency,Where, on the donkey riding,Thou fell’st among the thistles,From off the saddle gliding?The ass stood still, the thistlesDemurely looking after,—I never shall forget, love,Thy sweet delicious laughter.
In all my dreams by daytime,In all my watchings nightly,Thy sweet delicious laughterRings through my spirit lightly.
Remember’st Montmorency,Where, on the donkey riding,Thou fell’st among the thistles,From off the saddle gliding?
The ass stood still, the thistlesDemurely looking after,—I never shall forget, love,Thy sweet delicious laughter.
(She speaks.)
In the garden fair a tree stands,And an apple hangeth there,And around the trunk a serpentCoils himself, and I can ne’erFrom the serpent’s eyes enchantingTurn away my troubled sight,And he whispers words alluring,And enthrals me with delight.(The other one speaks.)’Tis the fruit of life thou spyest,—Its delicious flavour taste,That thy life until thou diestMay not be for ever waste!Darling dove, sweet child, no sighing!Quickly taste, and never fear;Follow my advice, relyingOn thy aunt’s sage counsel, dear.
In the garden fair a tree stands,And an apple hangeth there,And around the trunk a serpentCoils himself, and I can ne’erFrom the serpent’s eyes enchantingTurn away my troubled sight,And he whispers words alluring,And enthrals me with delight.(The other one speaks.)’Tis the fruit of life thou spyest,—Its delicious flavour taste,That thy life until thou diestMay not be for ever waste!Darling dove, sweet child, no sighing!Quickly taste, and never fear;Follow my advice, relyingOn thy aunt’s sage counsel, dear.
In the garden fair a tree stands,And an apple hangeth there,And around the trunk a serpentCoils himself, and I can ne’erFrom the serpent’s eyes enchantingTurn away my troubled sight,And he whispers words alluring,And enthrals me with delight.
(The other one speaks.)
’Tis the fruit of life thou spyest,—Its delicious flavour taste,That thy life until thou diestMay not be for ever waste!Darling dove, sweet child, no sighing!Quickly taste, and never fear;Follow my advice, relyingOn thy aunt’s sage counsel, dear.
On my newly-tuned guitar IPlay new tunes that seem much fitterOld the text is, for the words areSolomon’s: A woman’s bitter.To her husband she is faithless,And she treats her friend with malice;Wormwood are the last remainingDrops in love’s once-golden chalice.Tell me, is the ancient legendOf the curse of sin no libel?Did the serpent bring it on thee,As recorded in the Bible?Creeping on the earth, the serpentLurks in every bush around thee,Still, as formerly, caresses,And her hisses still confound thee.Ah, how cold and dark ’tis growing!Round the sun the ravens hoverCroakingly, and love and raptureNow for evermore are over.
On my newly-tuned guitar IPlay new tunes that seem much fitterOld the text is, for the words areSolomon’s: A woman’s bitter.To her husband she is faithless,And she treats her friend with malice;Wormwood are the last remainingDrops in love’s once-golden chalice.Tell me, is the ancient legendOf the curse of sin no libel?Did the serpent bring it on thee,As recorded in the Bible?Creeping on the earth, the serpentLurks in every bush around thee,Still, as formerly, caresses,And her hisses still confound thee.Ah, how cold and dark ’tis growing!Round the sun the ravens hoverCroakingly, and love and raptureNow for evermore are over.
On my newly-tuned guitar IPlay new tunes that seem much fitterOld the text is, for the words areSolomon’s: A woman’s bitter.
To her husband she is faithless,And she treats her friend with malice;Wormwood are the last remainingDrops in love’s once-golden chalice.
Tell me, is the ancient legendOf the curse of sin no libel?Did the serpent bring it on thee,As recorded in the Bible?
Creeping on the earth, the serpentLurks in every bush around thee,Still, as formerly, caresses,And her hisses still confound thee.
Ah, how cold and dark ’tis growing!Round the sun the ravens hoverCroakingly, and love and raptureNow for evermore are over.
The bliss that thou didst falsely pledgeFor but a short time cheated;Thine image, like a vision false,Soon from my bosom fleeted.The morning came, the mist soon fledBefore the sun’s rays splendid;And wellnigh ere it had commenced,Our passing fondness ended.
The bliss that thou didst falsely pledgeFor but a short time cheated;Thine image, like a vision false,Soon from my bosom fleeted.The morning came, the mist soon fledBefore the sun’s rays splendid;And wellnigh ere it had commenced,Our passing fondness ended.
The bliss that thou didst falsely pledgeFor but a short time cheated;Thine image, like a vision false,Soon from my bosom fleeted.
The morning came, the mist soon fledBefore the sun’s rays splendid;And wellnigh ere it had commenced,Our passing fondness ended.
All my charming loving offersThou art eagerly declining;If I say: “Is this refusal?”Thou at once beginnest whining.Seldom pray I, but now hear me,Gracious God! O help this maiden!Dry her sweet tears, and enlightenHer poor brains so sorrow-laden!
All my charming loving offersThou art eagerly declining;If I say: “Is this refusal?”Thou at once beginnest whining.Seldom pray I, but now hear me,Gracious God! O help this maiden!Dry her sweet tears, and enlightenHer poor brains so sorrow-laden!
All my charming loving offersThou art eagerly declining;If I say: “Is this refusal?”Thou at once beginnest whining.
Seldom pray I, but now hear me,Gracious God! O help this maiden!Dry her sweet tears, and enlightenHer poor brains so sorrow-laden!
Wheresoever thou mayst wander,Thou dost every hour behold me,And I love thee all the fonder,When thou dost rebuke and scold me.Charming malice will ensnare me,While I hate a kindly action;And the surest way to scare me,Is to love me to distraction.
Wheresoever thou mayst wander,Thou dost every hour behold me,And I love thee all the fonder,When thou dost rebuke and scold me.Charming malice will ensnare me,While I hate a kindly action;And the surest way to scare me,Is to love me to distraction.
Wheresoever thou mayst wander,Thou dost every hour behold me,And I love thee all the fonder,When thou dost rebuke and scold me.Charming malice will ensnare me,While I hate a kindly action;And the surest way to scare me,Is to love me to distraction.
May the devil take thy motherAnd thy father, for their cruelConduct at the play, in hidingThee from me, my precious jewel!There they sat, their spreading dressesLeaving but few spaces onlyThrough the which to spy thee sittingIn the box’s rear, all lonely.There they sat, and saw two loversBoth destroy’d, with eyes admiring;And they clapp’d a loud approvalWhen they saw them both expiring.
May the devil take thy motherAnd thy father, for their cruelConduct at the play, in hidingThee from me, my precious jewel!There they sat, their spreading dressesLeaving but few spaces onlyThrough the which to spy thee sittingIn the box’s rear, all lonely.There they sat, and saw two loversBoth destroy’d, with eyes admiring;And they clapp’d a loud approvalWhen they saw them both expiring.
May the devil take thy motherAnd thy father, for their cruelConduct at the play, in hidingThee from me, my precious jewel!
There they sat, their spreading dressesLeaving but few spaces onlyThrough the which to spy thee sittingIn the box’s rear, all lonely.
There they sat, and saw two loversBoth destroy’d, with eyes admiring;And they clapp’d a loud approvalWhen they saw them both expiring.
Go not through the naughty quartersWhere the pretty eyes are living;Ah, they fain would spare their lightningsWith a semblance of forgiving.From the high bow-window lookingIn a loving way they greet thee,Smiling kindly (death and devil!)Sisterlike their glances meet thee.But thou’rt on thy way already,And in vain is all thy striving;Thou wilt have a very breastfulOf distress, when home arriving.
Go not through the naughty quartersWhere the pretty eyes are living;Ah, they fain would spare their lightningsWith a semblance of forgiving.From the high bow-window lookingIn a loving way they greet thee,Smiling kindly (death and devil!)Sisterlike their glances meet thee.But thou’rt on thy way already,And in vain is all thy striving;Thou wilt have a very breastfulOf distress, when home arriving.
Go not through the naughty quartersWhere the pretty eyes are living;Ah, they fain would spare their lightningsWith a semblance of forgiving.
From the high bow-window lookingIn a loving way they greet thee,Smiling kindly (death and devil!)Sisterlike their glances meet thee.
But thou’rt on thy way already,And in vain is all thy striving;Thou wilt have a very breastfulOf distress, when home arriving.
It comes too late, thy present smiling,It comes too late, thy present sigh!The feelings all long since have perish’dThat thou didst spurn so cruelly.Too late has come thy love responsive,My heart thou vainly seek’st to stirWith burning looks of love, all fallingLike sunbeams on a sepulchre.* * *This would I learn: when life is ended,O whither doth our spirit go?Where is the flame when once extinguish’d?The wind, when it hath ceased to blow?
It comes too late, thy present smiling,It comes too late, thy present sigh!The feelings all long since have perish’dThat thou didst spurn so cruelly.Too late has come thy love responsive,My heart thou vainly seek’st to stirWith burning looks of love, all fallingLike sunbeams on a sepulchre.* * *This would I learn: when life is ended,O whither doth our spirit go?Where is the flame when once extinguish’d?The wind, when it hath ceased to blow?
It comes too late, thy present smiling,It comes too late, thy present sigh!The feelings all long since have perish’dThat thou didst spurn so cruelly.
Too late has come thy love responsive,My heart thou vainly seek’st to stirWith burning looks of love, all fallingLike sunbeams on a sepulchre.* * *This would I learn: when life is ended,O whither doth our spirit go?Where is the flame when once extinguish’d?The wind, when it hath ceased to blow?
Wounded, in distress, and sickly,On a lovely summer’s morrowMen I fly, and bury quicklyIn the wood my bitter sorrow.As I move, in mute compassionAll the noisy birds are vying;At my grief in wondrous fashionEach dark linden-tree is sighing.In the vale I sadly sit onSome green bank, sweet balm exhaling:“Kitten! O my pretty kitten!”And the hills repeat my wailing.Kitten! O my pretty kitten!Why delightest thou to do ill?Sadly is my poor heart smittenBy thy tiger-talons cruel.For my heart, grown stern and sadden’d,Long had been to joy a stranger,Till by new love I was gladden’dAt thy sight, and fear’d no danger.Thou in secret seem’dst to mew thus:“Have no fear of being bitten;“Prythee trust me when I sue thus,“I’m a very gentle kitten.”* * *
Wounded, in distress, and sickly,On a lovely summer’s morrowMen I fly, and bury quicklyIn the wood my bitter sorrow.As I move, in mute compassionAll the noisy birds are vying;At my grief in wondrous fashionEach dark linden-tree is sighing.In the vale I sadly sit onSome green bank, sweet balm exhaling:“Kitten! O my pretty kitten!”And the hills repeat my wailing.Kitten! O my pretty kitten!Why delightest thou to do ill?Sadly is my poor heart smittenBy thy tiger-talons cruel.For my heart, grown stern and sadden’d,Long had been to joy a stranger,Till by new love I was gladden’dAt thy sight, and fear’d no danger.Thou in secret seem’dst to mew thus:“Have no fear of being bitten;“Prythee trust me when I sue thus,“I’m a very gentle kitten.”* * *
Wounded, in distress, and sickly,On a lovely summer’s morrowMen I fly, and bury quicklyIn the wood my bitter sorrow.
As I move, in mute compassionAll the noisy birds are vying;At my grief in wondrous fashionEach dark linden-tree is sighing.
In the vale I sadly sit onSome green bank, sweet balm exhaling:“Kitten! O my pretty kitten!”And the hills repeat my wailing.
Kitten! O my pretty kitten!Why delightest thou to do ill?Sadly is my poor heart smittenBy thy tiger-talons cruel.
For my heart, grown stern and sadden’d,Long had been to joy a stranger,Till by new love I was gladden’dAt thy sight, and fear’d no danger.
Thou in secret seem’dst to mew thus:“Have no fear of being bitten;“Prythee trust me when I sue thus,“I’m a very gentle kitten.”* * *
Whilst sweet Philomel in airyWoods at random sings and wildly,Thou preferrest the canaryDoubtless, as it flutters mildly.In the cage I see thee feedingThis small bird, so tame and yellow,And it picks thy fingers, pleadingFor some sugar, pretty fellow!Charming is the scene and moving!Angels must enjoy the notion!I myself, with look approving,Drop a tear of deep emotion.
Whilst sweet Philomel in airyWoods at random sings and wildly,Thou preferrest the canaryDoubtless, as it flutters mildly.In the cage I see thee feedingThis small bird, so tame and yellow,And it picks thy fingers, pleadingFor some sugar, pretty fellow!Charming is the scene and moving!Angels must enjoy the notion!I myself, with look approving,Drop a tear of deep emotion.
Whilst sweet Philomel in airyWoods at random sings and wildly,Thou preferrest the canaryDoubtless, as it flutters mildly.
In the cage I see thee feedingThis small bird, so tame and yellow,And it picks thy fingers, pleadingFor some sugar, pretty fellow!
Charming is the scene and moving!Angels must enjoy the notion!I myself, with look approving,Drop a tear of deep emotion.
With Wedding Gifts the Spring Has Arrived,With music and exultation;It brings the bridegroom and the brideIts hearty congratulation.It brings its violets, rosebuds fair,And jasmine and herbs sweet-scented,And for the bride asparagus too,—The bridegroom’s with salad contented.
With Wedding Gifts the Spring Has Arrived,With music and exultation;It brings the bridegroom and the brideIts hearty congratulation.It brings its violets, rosebuds fair,And jasmine and herbs sweet-scented,And for the bride asparagus too,—The bridegroom’s with salad contented.
With Wedding Gifts the Spring Has Arrived,With music and exultation;It brings the bridegroom and the brideIts hearty congratulation.
It brings its violets, rosebuds fair,And jasmine and herbs sweet-scented,And for the bride asparagus too,—The bridegroom’s with salad contented.
God protect thee from o’erheating,And thy heart from palpitation,Keep thee from excessive eating,And excessive perspiration.As upon thy day of marriageMay thy love be ever blessèd!Ne’er the bridal yoke disparage!Be thy frame with health possessèd!
God protect thee from o’erheating,And thy heart from palpitation,Keep thee from excessive eating,And excessive perspiration.As upon thy day of marriageMay thy love be ever blessèd!Ne’er the bridal yoke disparage!Be thy frame with health possessèd!
God protect thee from o’erheating,And thy heart from palpitation,Keep thee from excessive eating,And excessive perspiration.
As upon thy day of marriageMay thy love be ever blessèd!Ne’er the bridal yoke disparage!Be thy frame with health possessèd!
Pretty maid, if so inclined,Thou mayst now thus think anent meThis man’s conduct is unkind,For he’s seeking to torment me;—Me, who never said a wordThat could possibly offend him;Who, when others’ blame I heard,Did my utmost to befriend him.Me, who had resolved in factBy-and-by to love him dearly,Had he not begun to actAs if he were frantic nearly!
Pretty maid, if so inclined,Thou mayst now thus think anent meThis man’s conduct is unkind,For he’s seeking to torment me;—Me, who never said a wordThat could possibly offend him;Who, when others’ blame I heard,Did my utmost to befriend him.Me, who had resolved in factBy-and-by to love him dearly,Had he not begun to actAs if he were frantic nearly!
Pretty maid, if so inclined,Thou mayst now thus think anent meThis man’s conduct is unkind,For he’s seeking to torment me;—
Me, who never said a wordThat could possibly offend him;Who, when others’ blame I heard,Did my utmost to befriend him.
Me, who had resolved in factBy-and-by to love him dearly,Had he not begun to actAs if he were frantic nearly!
How thou snarlest, laughest, broodest.How thou in ill humour twistest,When thou, to all love a stranger,Yet on jealousy existest!’Tis not red and fragrant rosesThou dost smell and love so dearly;No, amongst the thorns thou sniffest,Till they scratch thy nose severely.
How thou snarlest, laughest, broodest.How thou in ill humour twistest,When thou, to all love a stranger,Yet on jealousy existest!’Tis not red and fragrant rosesThou dost smell and love so dearly;No, amongst the thorns thou sniffest,Till they scratch thy nose severely.
How thou snarlest, laughest, broodest.How thou in ill humour twistest,When thou, to all love a stranger,Yet on jealousy existest!
’Tis not red and fragrant rosesThou dost smell and love so dearly;No, amongst the thorns thou sniffest,Till they scratch thy nose severely.
Both these ladies know by instinctHow a poet well to treat,For they ask’d me and my geniusLuncheon with them once to eat.Ah! the soup was quite delicious,And the wine was old and rare,And the game was really heavenly,And well-larded was the hare.They of poetry kept talking,Till I had enough at last,And I thank’d them for the honourOf this very kind repast.
Both these ladies know by instinctHow a poet well to treat,For they ask’d me and my geniusLuncheon with them once to eat.Ah! the soup was quite delicious,And the wine was old and rare,And the game was really heavenly,And well-larded was the hare.They of poetry kept talking,Till I had enough at last,And I thank’d them for the honourOf this very kind repast.
Both these ladies know by instinctHow a poet well to treat,For they ask’d me and my geniusLuncheon with them once to eat.
Ah! the soup was quite delicious,And the wine was old and rare,And the game was really heavenly,And well-larded was the hare.
They of poetry kept talking,Till I had enough at last,And I thank’d them for the honourOf this very kind repast.
With which shall I become enamour’d,Since both are loveable and mild?The mother’s still a pretty woman,The daughter is a pretty child.The white and inexperienced membersAre very pleasant to the view,And yet the genial eyes that answerOur tenderness are charming too.My heart the jackass grey resembles,Who when twixt two hay bundles placed,Eyes them with hesitation, doubtingWhich of the two the best will taste.
With which shall I become enamour’d,Since both are loveable and mild?The mother’s still a pretty woman,The daughter is a pretty child.The white and inexperienced membersAre very pleasant to the view,And yet the genial eyes that answerOur tenderness are charming too.My heart the jackass grey resembles,Who when twixt two hay bundles placed,Eyes them with hesitation, doubtingWhich of the two the best will taste.
With which shall I become enamour’d,Since both are loveable and mild?The mother’s still a pretty woman,The daughter is a pretty child.
The white and inexperienced membersAre very pleasant to the view,And yet the genial eyes that answerOur tenderness are charming too.
My heart the jackass grey resembles,Who when twixt two hay bundles placed,Eyes them with hesitation, doubtingWhich of the two the best will taste.
The bottles are empty, the breakfast was good,The ladies are gay and impassion’d;They open their corsets in right merry mood,Methinks they with point lace are fashion’d.Their bosoms how fair! Their shoulders how white!My heart is soon trembling all over;They presently jump on the bed with delight,And hide themselves under the cover.The curtains around them before long they pull,And snore away, free from intrusion;I stand in the chamber alone, like a fool,And stare at the bed in confusion.
The bottles are empty, the breakfast was good,The ladies are gay and impassion’d;They open their corsets in right merry mood,Methinks they with point lace are fashion’d.Their bosoms how fair! Their shoulders how white!My heart is soon trembling all over;They presently jump on the bed with delight,And hide themselves under the cover.The curtains around them before long they pull,And snore away, free from intrusion;I stand in the chamber alone, like a fool,And stare at the bed in confusion.
The bottles are empty, the breakfast was good,The ladies are gay and impassion’d;They open their corsets in right merry mood,Methinks they with point lace are fashion’d.
Their bosoms how fair! Their shoulders how white!My heart is soon trembling all over;They presently jump on the bed with delight,And hide themselves under the cover.
The curtains around them before long they pull,And snore away, free from intrusion;I stand in the chamber alone, like a fool,And stare at the bed in confusion.
Now that I’m fast growing older,Youth’s by keener fire replaced,And my arm, becoming bolder,Circles many a loving waist.Though at first they were affrighted,Yet they soon were reconcil’d;Modest doubts and wrath unitedWere o’ercome by flattery mild.Yet the best of all is wantingWhen I taste my victory;Can it be my youth’s enchantingBashful weak stupidity?
Now that I’m fast growing older,Youth’s by keener fire replaced,And my arm, becoming bolder,Circles many a loving waist.Though at first they were affrighted,Yet they soon were reconcil’d;Modest doubts and wrath unitedWere o’ercome by flattery mild.Yet the best of all is wantingWhen I taste my victory;Can it be my youth’s enchantingBashful weak stupidity?
Now that I’m fast growing older,Youth’s by keener fire replaced,And my arm, becoming bolder,Circles many a loving waist.
Though at first they were affrighted,Yet they soon were reconcil’d;Modest doubts and wrath unitedWere o’ercome by flattery mild.
Yet the best of all is wantingWhen I taste my victory;Can it be my youth’s enchantingBashful weak stupidity?
This tricolour’d flow’r now worn isIn my breast, to show I’m free,Proving that my heart freeborn is,And a foe to slavery.Sweet Queen Mary, who thy quartersIn my heart hast fix’d, pray list:Many of earth’s fairest daughtersThere have reign’d, then been dismiss’d.
This tricolour’d flow’r now worn isIn my breast, to show I’m free,Proving that my heart freeborn is,And a foe to slavery.Sweet Queen Mary, who thy quartersIn my heart hast fix’d, pray list:Many of earth’s fairest daughtersThere have reign’d, then been dismiss’d.
This tricolour’d flow’r now worn isIn my breast, to show I’m free,Proving that my heart freeborn is,And a foe to slavery.
Sweet Queen Mary, who thy quartersIn my heart hast fix’d, pray list:Many of earth’s fairest daughtersThere have reign’d, then been dismiss’d.
He stands as firm as a tree stem,In heat and tempest and frost;His toes in the ground are planted,His arms are heavenward toss’d.Thus long is Bagíratha tortured,And Brama his torments would end;He makes the mighty GangesDown from the heavens descend.But I, my loved one, am vainlyTormented and stricken with woe;From out of thine heavenly eyelidsNo drops of pity e’er flow.
He stands as firm as a tree stem,In heat and tempest and frost;His toes in the ground are planted,His arms are heavenward toss’d.Thus long is Bagíratha tortured,And Brama his torments would end;He makes the mighty GangesDown from the heavens descend.But I, my loved one, am vainlyTormented and stricken with woe;From out of thine heavenly eyelidsNo drops of pity e’er flow.
He stands as firm as a tree stem,In heat and tempest and frost;His toes in the ground are planted,His arms are heavenward toss’d.
Thus long is Bagíratha tortured,And Brama his torments would end;He makes the mighty GangesDown from the heavens descend.
But I, my loved one, am vainlyTormented and stricken with woe;From out of thine heavenly eyelidsNo drops of pity e’er flow.
Four-and-twenty hours I still mustWait, to see my bliss complete,As her sidelong glances tell me,Glances, O how dazzling sweet!Language is but inexpressive,Words are awkward and in vain;Soon as they are said, the prettyButterfly flies off again.But a look may last for ever,And with joy may fill thy breast,Making it like some wide heaven,Full of starry rapture blest.
Four-and-twenty hours I still mustWait, to see my bliss complete,As her sidelong glances tell me,Glances, O how dazzling sweet!Language is but inexpressive,Words are awkward and in vain;Soon as they are said, the prettyButterfly flies off again.But a look may last for ever,And with joy may fill thy breast,Making it like some wide heaven,Full of starry rapture blest.
Four-and-twenty hours I still mustWait, to see my bliss complete,As her sidelong glances tell me,Glances, O how dazzling sweet!
Language is but inexpressive,Words are awkward and in vain;Soon as they are said, the prettyButterfly flies off again.
But a look may last for ever,And with joy may fill thy breast,Making it like some wide heaven,Full of starry rapture blest.
Not one solitary kissAfter months of loving passion,So my mouth must still continueDry, in very wretched fashion.Happiness seem’d once at hand,And her breath I e’en felt nigh meBut without my lips e’er touching,She, alas! soon fleeted by me.
Not one solitary kissAfter months of loving passion,So my mouth must still continueDry, in very wretched fashion.Happiness seem’d once at hand,And her breath I e’en felt nigh meBut without my lips e’er touching,She, alas! soon fleeted by me.
Not one solitary kissAfter months of loving passion,So my mouth must still continueDry, in very wretched fashion.
Happiness seem’d once at hand,And her breath I e’en felt nigh meBut without my lips e’er touching,She, alas! soon fleeted by me.
Emma, for my satisfactionSay if I’m distracted driven,By my love, or is love onlyThe result of my distraction?Ah! I’m tortured, charming Emma,Not alone by my mad loving,Not alone by loving madness,But besides by this dilemma.
Emma, for my satisfactionSay if I’m distracted driven,By my love, or is love onlyThe result of my distraction?Ah! I’m tortured, charming Emma,Not alone by my mad loving,Not alone by loving madness,But besides by this dilemma.
Emma, for my satisfactionSay if I’m distracted driven,By my love, or is love onlyThe result of my distraction?
Ah! I’m tortured, charming Emma,Not alone by my mad loving,Not alone by loving madness,But besides by this dilemma.
When I’m with thee, strife and need!So I on my travels started;Yet my life, when from thee parted,Is no life, but death indeed.Pondering all the livelong night,I ’twixt death and hell lay choosing—Ah, methinks this strife confusingNow has driv’n me mad outright!
When I’m with thee, strife and need!So I on my travels started;Yet my life, when from thee parted,Is no life, but death indeed.Pondering all the livelong night,I ’twixt death and hell lay choosing—Ah, methinks this strife confusingNow has driv’n me mad outright!
When I’m with thee, strife and need!So I on my travels started;Yet my life, when from thee parted,Is no life, but death indeed.
Pondering all the livelong night,I ’twixt death and hell lay choosing—Ah, methinks this strife confusingNow has driv’n me mad outright!
Fast is creeping on us drearyNight with many a ghostly shape,And our souls are growing weary,And we at each other gape.Thou art old and I still older,And our spring has ceased to bloom;Thou art cold, and I still colder,At th’ approach of winter’s gloom.At the end, how all is sadden’d!After love’s sweet cares are past,Cares draw nigh, by love ungladden’d,After life comes death at last.
Fast is creeping on us drearyNight with many a ghostly shape,And our souls are growing weary,And we at each other gape.Thou art old and I still older,And our spring has ceased to bloom;Thou art cold, and I still colder,At th’ approach of winter’s gloom.At the end, how all is sadden’d!After love’s sweet cares are past,Cares draw nigh, by love ungladden’d,After life comes death at last.
Fast is creeping on us drearyNight with many a ghostly shape,And our souls are growing weary,And we at each other gape.
Thou art old and I still older,And our spring has ceased to bloom;Thou art cold, and I still colder,At th’ approach of winter’s gloom.
At the end, how all is sadden’d!After love’s sweet cares are past,Cares draw nigh, by love ungladden’d,After life comes death at last.
O leave Berlin, with its thick-lying sand,Weak tea, and men who seem so much to knowThat they both God, themselves, and all belowWith Hegel’s reason only understand.O come to India, to the sunny landWhere flowers ambrosial their sweet fragrance throwWhere pilgrim troops on tow’rd the Ganges goWith reverence, in white robes, a festal band.There, where the palm-trees wave, the billows smile,And on the sacred bank the lotos-treeSoars up to Indra’s castle blue,—yes there,There will I kneel to thee in trusting style,And press against thy foot, and say to thee:“Madam, thou art the fairest of the fair!”
O leave Berlin, with its thick-lying sand,Weak tea, and men who seem so much to knowThat they both God, themselves, and all belowWith Hegel’s reason only understand.O come to India, to the sunny landWhere flowers ambrosial their sweet fragrance throwWhere pilgrim troops on tow’rd the Ganges goWith reverence, in white robes, a festal band.There, where the palm-trees wave, the billows smile,And on the sacred bank the lotos-treeSoars up to Indra’s castle blue,—yes there,There will I kneel to thee in trusting style,And press against thy foot, and say to thee:“Madam, thou art the fairest of the fair!”
O leave Berlin, with its thick-lying sand,Weak tea, and men who seem so much to knowThat they both God, themselves, and all belowWith Hegel’s reason only understand.
O come to India, to the sunny landWhere flowers ambrosial their sweet fragrance throwWhere pilgrim troops on tow’rd the Ganges goWith reverence, in white robes, a festal band.
There, where the palm-trees wave, the billows smile,And on the sacred bank the lotos-treeSoars up to Indra’s castle blue,—yes there,
There will I kneel to thee in trusting style,And press against thy foot, and say to thee:“Madam, thou art the fairest of the fair!”
The Ganges roars; amid the foliage seeThe sharp eyes of the antelope, who springsDisdainfully along; their colour’d wingsThe peacocks as they move, show haughtily.Deep from the bosom of the sunny leaRises a newborn race of flowers, sweet things;With yearning-madden’d voice Cocila sings—Yes, thou art fair, no woman’s like to thee!God Cama[9]lurks in all thy features fair,He dwells within thy bosom’s tents so white,And breathes to thee the sweetest songs he knows.Upon thy lips Vassant[10]has made his lair,I find within thine eyes new worlds of light,In my own world no more I find repose.
The Ganges roars; amid the foliage seeThe sharp eyes of the antelope, who springsDisdainfully along; their colour’d wingsThe peacocks as they move, show haughtily.Deep from the bosom of the sunny leaRises a newborn race of flowers, sweet things;With yearning-madden’d voice Cocila sings—Yes, thou art fair, no woman’s like to thee!God Cama[9]lurks in all thy features fair,He dwells within thy bosom’s tents so white,And breathes to thee the sweetest songs he knows.Upon thy lips Vassant[10]has made his lair,I find within thine eyes new worlds of light,In my own world no more I find repose.
The Ganges roars; amid the foliage seeThe sharp eyes of the antelope, who springsDisdainfully along; their colour’d wingsThe peacocks as they move, show haughtily.
Deep from the bosom of the sunny leaRises a newborn race of flowers, sweet things;With yearning-madden’d voice Cocila sings—Yes, thou art fair, no woman’s like to thee!
God Cama[9]lurks in all thy features fair,He dwells within thy bosom’s tents so white,And breathes to thee the sweetest songs he knows.
Upon thy lips Vassant[10]has made his lair,I find within thine eyes new worlds of light,In my own world no more I find repose.
The Ganges roars; the mighty Ganges swells,The Himalaya glows in evening’s light,And from the banyan-forest’s gloomy nightThe elephantine herd breaks forth and yells.O for a type to show how she excels!A typo of thee, so lovely to the sight,Thee the incomparable, good and bright,So that sweet rapture in my bosom dwells.In vain thou see’st me seek for types, and prate,—See’st me with feelings struggle, and with rhyme,And, ah, thou smilest at my pangs of love!But smile! For when thou smil’st, Gandarvas straightSeize on the sweet guitar, and all the timeSing in the golden sunny halls above.
The Ganges roars; the mighty Ganges swells,The Himalaya glows in evening’s light,And from the banyan-forest’s gloomy nightThe elephantine herd breaks forth and yells.O for a type to show how she excels!A typo of thee, so lovely to the sight,Thee the incomparable, good and bright,So that sweet rapture in my bosom dwells.In vain thou see’st me seek for types, and prate,—See’st me with feelings struggle, and with rhyme,And, ah, thou smilest at my pangs of love!But smile! For when thou smil’st, Gandarvas straightSeize on the sweet guitar, and all the timeSing in the golden sunny halls above.
The Ganges roars; the mighty Ganges swells,The Himalaya glows in evening’s light,And from the banyan-forest’s gloomy nightThe elephantine herd breaks forth and yells.
O for a type to show how she excels!A typo of thee, so lovely to the sight,Thee the incomparable, good and bright,So that sweet rapture in my bosom dwells.
In vain thou see’st me seek for types, and prate,—See’st me with feelings struggle, and with rhyme,And, ah, thou smilest at my pangs of love!
But smile! For when thou smil’st, Gandarvas straightSeize on the sweet guitar, and all the timeSing in the golden sunny halls above.
A beauteous star arises o’er my night,A star which smiles down on me comfort bright,And new life pledges to supply,—O do not lie!As leaps to the moon the sea with sullen roar,So gladly, wildly, doth my spirit soarUp to thy blissful light on high,—O do not lie!
A beauteous star arises o’er my night,A star which smiles down on me comfort bright,And new life pledges to supply,—O do not lie!As leaps to the moon the sea with sullen roar,So gladly, wildly, doth my spirit soarUp to thy blissful light on high,—O do not lie!
A beauteous star arises o’er my night,A star which smiles down on me comfort bright,And new life pledges to supply,—O do not lie!
As leaps to the moon the sea with sullen roar,So gladly, wildly, doth my spirit soarUp to thy blissful light on high,—O do not lie!
“Will you not be presented to her?”The duchess whisper’d once to me.“On no account! for I to woo her“Methinks have too much modesty.”How gracefully she stands before me!I fancy, when I near her go,A newborn life is stealing o’er me,With newborn joy and newborn woe.I’m from her kept as though by anguish,While yearning drives me to draw near;Her eyes, as they so sweetly languish,The wild stars of my fate appear.Her brow is clear, yet in the distanceThe future lightning gathers there,The storm which, spite of all resistance,My spirit’s deepest seat will tear.Her mouth is lovely, but with terrorI see beneath the roses hissThe serpents which will prove my error,With honied scorn and treach’rous kiss.Impell’d by yearning, still more near IDraw to the dear but dangerous place;Her darling voice already hear I—Bright flames her every sentence grace.“Sir, what’s the name”—I hear her utterThese words—“Of her whose voice I heard?”I only answer with a stutter:“Madam, I did not hear one word!”
“Will you not be presented to her?”The duchess whisper’d once to me.“On no account! for I to woo her“Methinks have too much modesty.”How gracefully she stands before me!I fancy, when I near her go,A newborn life is stealing o’er me,With newborn joy and newborn woe.I’m from her kept as though by anguish,While yearning drives me to draw near;Her eyes, as they so sweetly languish,The wild stars of my fate appear.Her brow is clear, yet in the distanceThe future lightning gathers there,The storm which, spite of all resistance,My spirit’s deepest seat will tear.Her mouth is lovely, but with terrorI see beneath the roses hissThe serpents which will prove my error,With honied scorn and treach’rous kiss.Impell’d by yearning, still more near IDraw to the dear but dangerous place;Her darling voice already hear I—Bright flames her every sentence grace.“Sir, what’s the name”—I hear her utterThese words—“Of her whose voice I heard?”I only answer with a stutter:“Madam, I did not hear one word!”
“Will you not be presented to her?”The duchess whisper’d once to me.“On no account! for I to woo her“Methinks have too much modesty.”
How gracefully she stands before me!I fancy, when I near her go,A newborn life is stealing o’er me,With newborn joy and newborn woe.
I’m from her kept as though by anguish,While yearning drives me to draw near;Her eyes, as they so sweetly languish,The wild stars of my fate appear.
Her brow is clear, yet in the distanceThe future lightning gathers there,The storm which, spite of all resistance,My spirit’s deepest seat will tear.
Her mouth is lovely, but with terrorI see beneath the roses hissThe serpents which will prove my error,With honied scorn and treach’rous kiss.
Impell’d by yearning, still more near IDraw to the dear but dangerous place;Her darling voice already hear I—Bright flames her every sentence grace.
“Sir, what’s the name”—I hear her utterThese words—“Of her whose voice I heard?”I only answer with a stutter:“Madam, I did not hear one word!”
Yes, I now, a poor magician,Like sage Merlin, am held fastIn my magic ring at last,In disconsolate condition.At her feet imprison’d sweetlyI am lying all the while,Gazing on her eyes’ sweet smile,And the hours are passing fleetly.Thus, for hours, days, weeks behold me!Like a vision time has fled,Scarcely know I what I said,And I know not what she told me.Just as if her lips were dearlyPress’d to mine, beyond controlI am stirr’d, till in my soulI can trace the flames full clearly.
Yes, I now, a poor magician,Like sage Merlin, am held fastIn my magic ring at last,In disconsolate condition.At her feet imprison’d sweetlyI am lying all the while,Gazing on her eyes’ sweet smile,And the hours are passing fleetly.Thus, for hours, days, weeks behold me!Like a vision time has fled,Scarcely know I what I said,And I know not what she told me.Just as if her lips were dearlyPress’d to mine, beyond controlI am stirr’d, till in my soulI can trace the flames full clearly.
Yes, I now, a poor magician,Like sage Merlin, am held fastIn my magic ring at last,In disconsolate condition.
At her feet imprison’d sweetlyI am lying all the while,Gazing on her eyes’ sweet smile,And the hours are passing fleetly.
Thus, for hours, days, weeks behold me!Like a vision time has fled,Scarcely know I what I said,And I know not what she told me.
Just as if her lips were dearlyPress’d to mine, beyond controlI am stirr’d, till in my soulI can trace the flames full clearly.
Thou lie’st in my arms so gladly.So gladly thou lie’st on my heart!I am thy one sole heaven,My dearest star thou art.The foolish race of mortalsIs swarming far below;They’re shouting and storming and scolding,(And each one is right, I well know)Their cap and bells they jingle,And quarrel without a cause,And with their heavy club-sticksThey break each other’s jaws.How happy are we, my darling,That we so far away are;Thou hidest in thy heavenThy head, my dearest star!
Thou lie’st in my arms so gladly.So gladly thou lie’st on my heart!I am thy one sole heaven,My dearest star thou art.The foolish race of mortalsIs swarming far below;They’re shouting and storming and scolding,(And each one is right, I well know)Their cap and bells they jingle,And quarrel without a cause,And with their heavy club-sticksThey break each other’s jaws.How happy are we, my darling,That we so far away are;Thou hidest in thy heavenThy head, my dearest star!
Thou lie’st in my arms so gladly.So gladly thou lie’st on my heart!I am thy one sole heaven,My dearest star thou art.
The foolish race of mortalsIs swarming far below;They’re shouting and storming and scolding,(And each one is right, I well know)
Their cap and bells they jingle,And quarrel without a cause,And with their heavy club-sticksThey break each other’s jaws.
How happy are we, my darling,That we so far away are;Thou hidest in thy heavenThy head, my dearest star!
I love such white and snowy members,The thin veil of a spirit tender,Wild and large eyes, a brow encompass’dWith flowing locks of swarthy splendour.Thou art indeed the very personWhom I in every land have sought for,While girls like thee a man of honourLike me have always cared and thought for.The very man thou stand’st in need ofIs found in me. At first thou’lt pay meRichly with sentiments and kisses,And then, as usual, wilt betray me.
I love such white and snowy members,The thin veil of a spirit tender,Wild and large eyes, a brow encompass’dWith flowing locks of swarthy splendour.Thou art indeed the very personWhom I in every land have sought for,While girls like thee a man of honourLike me have always cared and thought for.The very man thou stand’st in need ofIs found in me. At first thou’lt pay meRichly with sentiments and kisses,And then, as usual, wilt betray me.
I love such white and snowy members,The thin veil of a spirit tender,Wild and large eyes, a brow encompass’dWith flowing locks of swarthy splendour.
Thou art indeed the very personWhom I in every land have sought for,While girls like thee a man of honourLike me have always cared and thought for.
The very man thou stand’st in need ofIs found in me. At first thou’lt pay meRichly with sentiments and kisses,And then, as usual, wilt betray me.
The spring’s already at the gateWith looks my care beguiling;The country round appeareth straightA flower-garden smiling.My darling sitteth by my side,In carriage onward fleeting;She looks on me with tender pride,Her heart, I feel it beating.What warbling, what fragrance the sun’s light awakes!Like jewels the verdure is gleaming,His snowy-blossoming head soon shakesThe sapling with joyous seeming.The flowers peep forth from the earth to see,With longing in every feature,The lovely woman won by me,And me, the happy creature.O transient bliss! Across the cornTo-morrow will pass the sickle,The beauteous spring wither, and I all forlornBe left by the woman fickle.
The spring’s already at the gateWith looks my care beguiling;The country round appeareth straightA flower-garden smiling.My darling sitteth by my side,In carriage onward fleeting;She looks on me with tender pride,Her heart, I feel it beating.What warbling, what fragrance the sun’s light awakes!Like jewels the verdure is gleaming,His snowy-blossoming head soon shakesThe sapling with joyous seeming.The flowers peep forth from the earth to see,With longing in every feature,The lovely woman won by me,And me, the happy creature.O transient bliss! Across the cornTo-morrow will pass the sickle,The beauteous spring wither, and I all forlornBe left by the woman fickle.
The spring’s already at the gateWith looks my care beguiling;The country round appeareth straightA flower-garden smiling.
My darling sitteth by my side,In carriage onward fleeting;She looks on me with tender pride,Her heart, I feel it beating.
What warbling, what fragrance the sun’s light awakes!Like jewels the verdure is gleaming,His snowy-blossoming head soon shakesThe sapling with joyous seeming.
The flowers peep forth from the earth to see,With longing in every feature,The lovely woman won by me,And me, the happy creature.
O transient bliss! Across the cornTo-morrow will pass the sickle,The beauteous spring wither, and I all forlornBe left by the woman fickle.
Lately dreamt I I was walkingIn the happy realms of heaven,Walking with thee, for without thee,Heaven itself would be a hell.There I saw th’ Elect together,All the righteous and the godly,Who had for their souls’ salvationMortified on earth their bodies.Fathers of the Church, apostles,Capuchins and holy hermits,Strange old fellows, some strange young ones—’Twas the latter look’d the ugliest!Very long and saintly faces,Ample bald pates, also grey beards(Various Jews were of the number)Pass’d us, looking stern and solemn.Not one look upon thee throwing,Although thou, my pretty darling,On my arm wert hanging, toying,Toying, smiling, and coquetting.One alone upon thee look’d,And he was the only handsome,Handsome man of all the number;And majestic were his features.Round his lips was human kindness,In his eyes divine repose,And he mildly gazed upon theeAs upon the Magdalene.Ah! I know, he meant it kindly,None was e’er so pure and noble,But I, I was notwithstandingMoved as by an envious feeling;And, I must confess, I found itFar from pleasant up in heaven—May God pardon me! Our SaviourJesus Christ I deem’d intrusive.
Lately dreamt I I was walkingIn the happy realms of heaven,Walking with thee, for without thee,Heaven itself would be a hell.There I saw th’ Elect together,All the righteous and the godly,Who had for their souls’ salvationMortified on earth their bodies.Fathers of the Church, apostles,Capuchins and holy hermits,Strange old fellows, some strange young ones—’Twas the latter look’d the ugliest!Very long and saintly faces,Ample bald pates, also grey beards(Various Jews were of the number)Pass’d us, looking stern and solemn.Not one look upon thee throwing,Although thou, my pretty darling,On my arm wert hanging, toying,Toying, smiling, and coquetting.One alone upon thee look’d,And he was the only handsome,Handsome man of all the number;And majestic were his features.Round his lips was human kindness,In his eyes divine repose,And he mildly gazed upon theeAs upon the Magdalene.Ah! I know, he meant it kindly,None was e’er so pure and noble,But I, I was notwithstandingMoved as by an envious feeling;And, I must confess, I found itFar from pleasant up in heaven—May God pardon me! Our SaviourJesus Christ I deem’d intrusive.
Lately dreamt I I was walkingIn the happy realms of heaven,Walking with thee, for without thee,Heaven itself would be a hell.
There I saw th’ Elect together,All the righteous and the godly,Who had for their souls’ salvationMortified on earth their bodies.
Fathers of the Church, apostles,Capuchins and holy hermits,Strange old fellows, some strange young ones—’Twas the latter look’d the ugliest!
Very long and saintly faces,Ample bald pates, also grey beards(Various Jews were of the number)Pass’d us, looking stern and solemn.
Not one look upon thee throwing,Although thou, my pretty darling,On my arm wert hanging, toying,Toying, smiling, and coquetting.
One alone upon thee look’d,And he was the only handsome,Handsome man of all the number;And majestic were his features.
Round his lips was human kindness,In his eyes divine repose,And he mildly gazed upon theeAs upon the Magdalene.
Ah! I know, he meant it kindly,None was e’er so pure and noble,But I, I was notwithstandingMoved as by an envious feeling;
And, I must confess, I found itFar from pleasant up in heaven—May God pardon me! Our SaviourJesus Christ I deem’d intrusive.
Each person to this feast enchantingHis mistress takes, and with delightRoams in the blooming summer night.I wander alone, for my loved one is wanting.Like some sick man, I wander all lonely,And far from the mirth and dancing go,The music sweet and the lamps’ bright glowMy thoughts are away, and in England only.I pluck the pinks and I pluck the roses,Distractedly and full of woe,And know not on whom the flow’rs to bestow;My heart soon withers along with the posies.
Each person to this feast enchantingHis mistress takes, and with delightRoams in the blooming summer night.I wander alone, for my loved one is wanting.Like some sick man, I wander all lonely,And far from the mirth and dancing go,The music sweet and the lamps’ bright glowMy thoughts are away, and in England only.I pluck the pinks and I pluck the roses,Distractedly and full of woe,And know not on whom the flow’rs to bestow;My heart soon withers along with the posies.
Each person to this feast enchantingHis mistress takes, and with delightRoams in the blooming summer night.I wander alone, for my loved one is wanting.
Like some sick man, I wander all lonely,And far from the mirth and dancing go,The music sweet and the lamps’ bright glowMy thoughts are away, and in England only.
I pluck the pinks and I pluck the roses,Distractedly and full of woe,And know not on whom the flow’rs to bestow;My heart soon withers along with the posies.
Long songless and oppress’d with sadness,I now compose again with yearning!Like tears that from us burst with madnessMy songs are suddenly returning.Again I chant, with voice melodious,Of great love and still greater sorrow;Of hearts which, to each other odiousTo-day, when parted break to-morrow.I ofttimes think I feel the greetingOf German oak trees waving o’er me,With whispers of a glad re-meeting—A dream! they vanish from before me.I ofttimes think I hear the singingOf German nightingales once cherish’d;Sweetly their notes are round me clinging—A dream! the vision soon has perish’d.Where are the roses whose deliciousPerfume once bless’d me? Every blossomLong since has died! With taint perniciousTheir ghostly scent still haunts my bosom.
Long songless and oppress’d with sadness,I now compose again with yearning!Like tears that from us burst with madnessMy songs are suddenly returning.Again I chant, with voice melodious,Of great love and still greater sorrow;Of hearts which, to each other odiousTo-day, when parted break to-morrow.I ofttimes think I feel the greetingOf German oak trees waving o’er me,With whispers of a glad re-meeting—A dream! they vanish from before me.I ofttimes think I hear the singingOf German nightingales once cherish’d;Sweetly their notes are round me clinging—A dream! the vision soon has perish’d.Where are the roses whose deliciousPerfume once bless’d me? Every blossomLong since has died! With taint perniciousTheir ghostly scent still haunts my bosom.
Long songless and oppress’d with sadness,I now compose again with yearning!Like tears that from us burst with madnessMy songs are suddenly returning.
Again I chant, with voice melodious,Of great love and still greater sorrow;Of hearts which, to each other odiousTo-day, when parted break to-morrow.
I ofttimes think I feel the greetingOf German oak trees waving o’er me,With whispers of a glad re-meeting—A dream! they vanish from before me.
I ofttimes think I hear the singingOf German nightingales once cherish’d;Sweetly their notes are round me clinging—A dream! the vision soon has perish’d.
Where are the roses whose deliciousPerfume once bless’d me? Every blossomLong since has died! With taint perniciousTheir ghostly scent still haunts my bosom.
God at first the sun created,Then each nightly constellation;From the sweat of his own foreheadOxen were his next creation.Wild beasts he created later,Lions with their paws so furious;In the image of the lionMade he kittens small and curious.Afterwards, the wilds to people,Man to spring to being bade he,And in man’s attractive imageInteresting monkeys made he.Satan saw it, full of laughter:“Copies from himself he’s taking!“In the image of his oxen“Calves he finally is making.”
God at first the sun created,Then each nightly constellation;From the sweat of his own foreheadOxen were his next creation.Wild beasts he created later,Lions with their paws so furious;In the image of the lionMade he kittens small and curious.Afterwards, the wilds to people,Man to spring to being bade he,And in man’s attractive imageInteresting monkeys made he.Satan saw it, full of laughter:“Copies from himself he’s taking!“In the image of his oxen“Calves he finally is making.”
God at first the sun created,Then each nightly constellation;From the sweat of his own foreheadOxen were his next creation.
Wild beasts he created later,Lions with their paws so furious;In the image of the lionMade he kittens small and curious.
Afterwards, the wilds to people,Man to spring to being bade he,And in man’s attractive imageInteresting monkeys made he.
Satan saw it, full of laughter:“Copies from himself he’s taking!“In the image of his oxen“Calves he finally is making.”