When, Germany, I think of theeAt night, all slumber flies from me;I cannot close mine eyes for yearning,And down my cheeks run tears all burning.How swiftly speeds each rolling year!Since I have seen my mother dearTwelve years have pass’d away; the longerI wait, my yearning grows the stronger.My yearning’s growing evermore;That woman has bewitch’d me sore!Dear, dear old woman! with what fervourI think of her! may God preserve her!The dear old thing in me delights,And in the letters that she writesI see how much her hand is shaking,—Her mother’s heart, how nearly breaking!My mother’s ever in my mind;Twelve long long years are left behind,Twelve years have follow’d on each otherSince to my heart I clasp’d my mother.For ages Germany will stand;Sound to the core is that dear land!Its oaks and lindens I shall everFind just the same, they alter never.For Germany I less should careIf my dear mother were not there;My fatherland will never perishButshemay die, whom most I cherish.Since I my native land saw last,Into the tomb have many pass’dWhom I so loved—When of them thinkingHow sadly bleeds my spirit sinking!I needs must count them,—as I countMy sorrows higher, higher mount;I feel as though each corpse were lyingUpon my breast—Thank God, they’re flying!Thank God! for through the window-paneFrance’s clear daylight breaks again;My fair wife enters, sweetly smiling,And all my German cares beguiling!
When, Germany, I think of theeAt night, all slumber flies from me;I cannot close mine eyes for yearning,And down my cheeks run tears all burning.How swiftly speeds each rolling year!Since I have seen my mother dearTwelve years have pass’d away; the longerI wait, my yearning grows the stronger.My yearning’s growing evermore;That woman has bewitch’d me sore!Dear, dear old woman! with what fervourI think of her! may God preserve her!The dear old thing in me delights,And in the letters that she writesI see how much her hand is shaking,—Her mother’s heart, how nearly breaking!My mother’s ever in my mind;Twelve long long years are left behind,Twelve years have follow’d on each otherSince to my heart I clasp’d my mother.For ages Germany will stand;Sound to the core is that dear land!Its oaks and lindens I shall everFind just the same, they alter never.For Germany I less should careIf my dear mother were not there;My fatherland will never perishButshemay die, whom most I cherish.Since I my native land saw last,Into the tomb have many pass’dWhom I so loved—When of them thinkingHow sadly bleeds my spirit sinking!I needs must count them,—as I countMy sorrows higher, higher mount;I feel as though each corpse were lyingUpon my breast—Thank God, they’re flying!Thank God! for through the window-paneFrance’s clear daylight breaks again;My fair wife enters, sweetly smiling,And all my German cares beguiling!
When, Germany, I think of theeAt night, all slumber flies from me;I cannot close mine eyes for yearning,And down my cheeks run tears all burning.
How swiftly speeds each rolling year!Since I have seen my mother dearTwelve years have pass’d away; the longerI wait, my yearning grows the stronger.
My yearning’s growing evermore;That woman has bewitch’d me sore!Dear, dear old woman! with what fervourI think of her! may God preserve her!
The dear old thing in me delights,And in the letters that she writesI see how much her hand is shaking,—Her mother’s heart, how nearly breaking!
My mother’s ever in my mind;Twelve long long years are left behind,Twelve years have follow’d on each otherSince to my heart I clasp’d my mother.
For ages Germany will stand;Sound to the core is that dear land!Its oaks and lindens I shall everFind just the same, they alter never.
For Germany I less should careIf my dear mother were not there;My fatherland will never perishButshemay die, whom most I cherish.
Since I my native land saw last,Into the tomb have many pass’dWhom I so loved—When of them thinkingHow sadly bleeds my spirit sinking!
I needs must count them,—as I countMy sorrows higher, higher mount;I feel as though each corpse were lyingUpon my breast—Thank God, they’re flying!
Thank God! for through the window-paneFrance’s clear daylight breaks again;My fair wife enters, sweetly smiling,And all my German cares beguiling!
Sometimes when o’er pictures turningYou have seen the man perchance,Who is for the battle yearning,Well-equipp’d with shield and lance.Yet young loves are hov’ring round him,Stealing lance and sword away;They with flow’ry chains have bound himThough he struggle in dismay.I, too, in such charming fetters,Bind myself with sad delight,And I leave it to my bettersIn time’s mighty fight to fight.
Sometimes when o’er pictures turningYou have seen the man perchance,Who is for the battle yearning,Well-equipp’d with shield and lance.Yet young loves are hov’ring round him,Stealing lance and sword away;They with flow’ry chains have bound himThough he struggle in dismay.I, too, in such charming fetters,Bind myself with sad delight,And I leave it to my bettersIn time’s mighty fight to fight.
Sometimes when o’er pictures turningYou have seen the man perchance,Who is for the battle yearning,Well-equipp’d with shield and lance.
Yet young loves are hov’ring round him,Stealing lance and sword away;They with flow’ry chains have bound himThough he struggle in dismay.
I, too, in such charming fetters,Bind myself with sad delight,And I leave it to my bettersIn time’s mighty fight to fight.
’Neath the white tree sitting sadly,Thou dost hear the far winds wailing,Seëst how the mute clouds o’er theeAre their forms in mist fast veiling;See’st how all beneath seems perish’d,Wood and plain, how shorn and dreary;Round thee winter, in thee winter,Frozen is thy heart and weary.Sudden downward fall upon theeFlakes all white, and with vexationThou dost think the tree is show’ringSnow-dust from that elevation.Soon with joyful start thou findest’Tis no snow-dust cold and freezing;Fragrant blossoms ’tis of springtimeCov’ring thee and fondly teasing.What a shudd’ring-sweet enchantment!Into May is winter turning,Snow hath changed itself to blossoms,And thy heart with love is yearning.
’Neath the white tree sitting sadly,Thou dost hear the far winds wailing,Seëst how the mute clouds o’er theeAre their forms in mist fast veiling;See’st how all beneath seems perish’d,Wood and plain, how shorn and dreary;Round thee winter, in thee winter,Frozen is thy heart and weary.Sudden downward fall upon theeFlakes all white, and with vexationThou dost think the tree is show’ringSnow-dust from that elevation.Soon with joyful start thou findest’Tis no snow-dust cold and freezing;Fragrant blossoms ’tis of springtimeCov’ring thee and fondly teasing.What a shudd’ring-sweet enchantment!Into May is winter turning,Snow hath changed itself to blossoms,And thy heart with love is yearning.
’Neath the white tree sitting sadly,Thou dost hear the far winds wailing,Seëst how the mute clouds o’er theeAre their forms in mist fast veiling;
See’st how all beneath seems perish’d,Wood and plain, how shorn and dreary;Round thee winter, in thee winter,Frozen is thy heart and weary.
Sudden downward fall upon theeFlakes all white, and with vexationThou dost think the tree is show’ringSnow-dust from that elevation.
Soon with joyful start thou findest’Tis no snow-dust cold and freezing;Fragrant blossoms ’tis of springtimeCov’ring thee and fondly teasing.
What a shudd’ring-sweet enchantment!Into May is winter turning,Snow hath changed itself to blossoms,And thy heart with love is yearning.
In the wood, the verdure’s shooting,Joy-oppress’d, like some fair maiden;Yet the sun laughs sweetly downward:“Welcome, young spring, rapture-laden!”Nightingale! I hear thee also,Piping, blissful-sad and lonely,Sobbing tones and long-protracted,And thy song of love is only!
In the wood, the verdure’s shooting,Joy-oppress’d, like some fair maiden;Yet the sun laughs sweetly downward:“Welcome, young spring, rapture-laden!”Nightingale! I hear thee also,Piping, blissful-sad and lonely,Sobbing tones and long-protracted,And thy song of love is only!
In the wood, the verdure’s shooting,Joy-oppress’d, like some fair maiden;Yet the sun laughs sweetly downward:“Welcome, young spring, rapture-laden!”
Nightingale! I hear thee also,Piping, blissful-sad and lonely,Sobbing tones and long-protracted,And thy song of love is only!
The beauteous eyes of the spring’s fair nightWith comfort are downward gazing:If love hath made thee so small in our sight,Yet love hath the power of raising.Sweet Philomel sits on the linden green,Her notes melodiously blending;And as to my soul her song pierceth e’en,My soul once more is distending.
The beauteous eyes of the spring’s fair nightWith comfort are downward gazing:If love hath made thee so small in our sight,Yet love hath the power of raising.Sweet Philomel sits on the linden green,Her notes melodiously blending;And as to my soul her song pierceth e’en,My soul once more is distending.
The beauteous eyes of the spring’s fair nightWith comfort are downward gazing:If love hath made thee so small in our sight,Yet love hath the power of raising.
Sweet Philomel sits on the linden green,Her notes melodiously blending;And as to my soul her song pierceth e’en,My soul once more is distending.
Which flower I love, I cannot discover;This grief doth impart.In every calix I search like a lover,And seek a heart.The flowers smell sweet in the sun’s setting splendour,The nightingale sings.I seek for a heart that like my heart is tender,And like it springs.The nightingale sings; his sweet song, void of gladness,Comes home to my breast;We’re both so oppress’d and heavy with sadness,So sad and oppress’d.
Which flower I love, I cannot discover;This grief doth impart.In every calix I search like a lover,And seek a heart.The flowers smell sweet in the sun’s setting splendour,The nightingale sings.I seek for a heart that like my heart is tender,And like it springs.The nightingale sings; his sweet song, void of gladness,Comes home to my breast;We’re both so oppress’d and heavy with sadness,So sad and oppress’d.
Which flower I love, I cannot discover;This grief doth impart.In every calix I search like a lover,And seek a heart.
The flowers smell sweet in the sun’s setting splendour,The nightingale sings.I seek for a heart that like my heart is tender,And like it springs.
The nightingale sings; his sweet song, void of gladness,Comes home to my breast;We’re both so oppress’d and heavy with sadness,So sad and oppress’d.
Sweet May hath come to love us,Flowers, trees, their blossoms don;And through the blue heavens above usThe rosy clouds move on.The nightingales are singingOn leafy perch aloft;The snowy lambs are springingIn clover green and soft.I cannot be singing and springing,Ill in the grass I lie;I hear a distant ringing,And dream of days gone by.
Sweet May hath come to love us,Flowers, trees, their blossoms don;And through the blue heavens above usThe rosy clouds move on.The nightingales are singingOn leafy perch aloft;The snowy lambs are springingIn clover green and soft.I cannot be singing and springing,Ill in the grass I lie;I hear a distant ringing,And dream of days gone by.
Sweet May hath come to love us,Flowers, trees, their blossoms don;And through the blue heavens above usThe rosy clouds move on.
The nightingales are singingOn leafy perch aloft;The snowy lambs are springingIn clover green and soft.
I cannot be singing and springing,Ill in the grass I lie;I hear a distant ringing,And dream of days gone by.
Softly through my spirit ringBlissful tones loved dearly;Sound, thou little song of spring,Echoing far and clearly.Sound, till thou the home com’st nighOf the violet tender;And when thou a rose dost spy,Say, my love I send her.
Softly through my spirit ringBlissful tones loved dearly;Sound, thou little song of spring,Echoing far and clearly.Sound, till thou the home com’st nighOf the violet tender;And when thou a rose dost spy,Say, my love I send her.
Softly through my spirit ringBlissful tones loved dearly;Sound, thou little song of spring,Echoing far and clearly.
Sound, till thou the home com’st nighOf the violet tender;And when thou a rose dost spy,Say, my love I send her.
With the rose the butterfly’s deep in love,A thousand times hovering round;But round himself, all tender like gold,The sun’s sweet ray is hovering found.With whom is the rose herself in love?An answer I’d fain receive.Is it the singing nightingale?Is it the silent star of eve?I know not with whom the rose is in love,But every one love I:The rose, the nightingale, sun’s sweet ray,The star of eve and butterfly.
With the rose the butterfly’s deep in love,A thousand times hovering round;But round himself, all tender like gold,The sun’s sweet ray is hovering found.With whom is the rose herself in love?An answer I’d fain receive.Is it the singing nightingale?Is it the silent star of eve?I know not with whom the rose is in love,But every one love I:The rose, the nightingale, sun’s sweet ray,The star of eve and butterfly.
With the rose the butterfly’s deep in love,A thousand times hovering round;But round himself, all tender like gold,The sun’s sweet ray is hovering found.
With whom is the rose herself in love?An answer I’d fain receive.Is it the singing nightingale?Is it the silent star of eve?
I know not with whom the rose is in love,But every one love I:The rose, the nightingale, sun’s sweet ray,The star of eve and butterfly.
All the trees with joy are shouting,All the birds are singing o’er us—Tell me, who can be the leaderIn this green and forest chorus?Can it be the grey old plover,Wise nods evermore renewing?Or yon pedant, who is everIn such measured time coo-coo-ing?Can it be yon stork, the grave one,His director’s airs betraying,And his long leg rattling loudly,Whilst the music’s round him playing?No, the forest concert’s leaderIn my own heart hath his station,All the while he’s beating time there,—Amor is his appellation.
All the trees with joy are shouting,All the birds are singing o’er us—Tell me, who can be the leaderIn this green and forest chorus?Can it be the grey old plover,Wise nods evermore renewing?Or yon pedant, who is everIn such measured time coo-coo-ing?Can it be yon stork, the grave one,His director’s airs betraying,And his long leg rattling loudly,Whilst the music’s round him playing?No, the forest concert’s leaderIn my own heart hath his station,All the while he’s beating time there,—Amor is his appellation.
All the trees with joy are shouting,All the birds are singing o’er us—Tell me, who can be the leaderIn this green and forest chorus?
Can it be the grey old plover,Wise nods evermore renewing?Or yon pedant, who is everIn such measured time coo-coo-ing?
Can it be yon stork, the grave one,His director’s airs betraying,And his long leg rattling loudly,Whilst the music’s round him playing?
No, the forest concert’s leaderIn my own heart hath his station,All the while he’s beating time there,—Amor is his appellation.
“The nightingale appear’d the first,“And as her melody she sang,“The apple into blossom burst,“To life the grass and violets sprang.“She her own bosom then did bite,“Her red blood flow’d, and from the blood“A beauteous rose-tree came to light,“To whom she sings in loving mood.“That blood atones for, to this day,“Us birds within the forest here;“Yet when the rose-song dies away,“Will all the wood too disappear.”Thus to his youthful brood doth speakThe sparrow in his oaken nest;His mate pips, while she trims her beak,And proudly sits and looks her best.She is a homely wife and kind,Broods well, and ne’er is seen to pout;The father makes his children findPastime in studying things devout.
“The nightingale appear’d the first,“And as her melody she sang,“The apple into blossom burst,“To life the grass and violets sprang.“She her own bosom then did bite,“Her red blood flow’d, and from the blood“A beauteous rose-tree came to light,“To whom she sings in loving mood.“That blood atones for, to this day,“Us birds within the forest here;“Yet when the rose-song dies away,“Will all the wood too disappear.”Thus to his youthful brood doth speakThe sparrow in his oaken nest;His mate pips, while she trims her beak,And proudly sits and looks her best.She is a homely wife and kind,Broods well, and ne’er is seen to pout;The father makes his children findPastime in studying things devout.
“The nightingale appear’d the first,“And as her melody she sang,“The apple into blossom burst,“To life the grass and violets sprang.
“She her own bosom then did bite,“Her red blood flow’d, and from the blood“A beauteous rose-tree came to light,“To whom she sings in loving mood.
“That blood atones for, to this day,“Us birds within the forest here;“Yet when the rose-song dies away,“Will all the wood too disappear.”
Thus to his youthful brood doth speakThe sparrow in his oaken nest;His mate pips, while she trims her beak,And proudly sits and looks her best.
She is a homely wife and kind,Broods well, and ne’er is seen to pout;The father makes his children findPastime in studying things devout.
The warm and balmy spring-night’s airHath waken’d every flower,And take I not the greatest care,My heart must succumb to love’s power.But which of all the flowery throngIs likely most to snare me?The nightingales say, in their blissful songOf the lily I ought to beware me.
The warm and balmy spring-night’s airHath waken’d every flower,And take I not the greatest care,My heart must succumb to love’s power.But which of all the flowery throngIs likely most to snare me?The nightingales say, in their blissful songOf the lily I ought to beware me.
The warm and balmy spring-night’s airHath waken’d every flower,And take I not the greatest care,My heart must succumb to love’s power.
But which of all the flowery throngIs likely most to snare me?The nightingales say, in their blissful songOf the lily I ought to beware me.
I’m sore perplex’d, the bells are ringing,And by my senses I feel forsaken;The spring and two fair eyes togetherAgainst my heart an oath have taken.The spring and two fair eyes togetherLure on my heart to a new illusion;Methinks the nightingales and rosesHave much to do with all my confusion.
I’m sore perplex’d, the bells are ringing,And by my senses I feel forsaken;The spring and two fair eyes togetherAgainst my heart an oath have taken.The spring and two fair eyes togetherLure on my heart to a new illusion;Methinks the nightingales and rosesHave much to do with all my confusion.
I’m sore perplex’d, the bells are ringing,And by my senses I feel forsaken;The spring and two fair eyes togetherAgainst my heart an oath have taken.
The spring and two fair eyes togetherLure on my heart to a new illusion;Methinks the nightingales and rosesHave much to do with all my confusion.
Ah! I yearn for tears all-burning,Tears of love and gentle woe,And I tremble lest this yearningAt the last should overflow.Ah! love’s pangs, that sweetly languish,And love’s bitter joy, so blest,Creep again, with heavenly anguish,Into my scarce healèd breast.
Ah! I yearn for tears all-burning,Tears of love and gentle woe,And I tremble lest this yearningAt the last should overflow.Ah! love’s pangs, that sweetly languish,And love’s bitter joy, so blest,Creep again, with heavenly anguish,Into my scarce healèd breast.
Ah! I yearn for tears all-burning,Tears of love and gentle woe,And I tremble lest this yearningAt the last should overflow.
Ah! love’s pangs, that sweetly languish,And love’s bitter joy, so blest,Creep again, with heavenly anguish,Into my scarce healèd breast.
The eyes of spring, so azure,Are peeping from the ground;They are the darling violets,That I in nosegays bound.I pluck them, thinking deeply,And all the thoughts so dear,That in my heart are sighing,The nightingale sings clear.Yes, all my thoughts she singethAnd warbleth, echoing far;So that my tender secretsKnown to the whole wood are.
The eyes of spring, so azure,Are peeping from the ground;They are the darling violets,That I in nosegays bound.I pluck them, thinking deeply,And all the thoughts so dear,That in my heart are sighing,The nightingale sings clear.Yes, all my thoughts she singethAnd warbleth, echoing far;So that my tender secretsKnown to the whole wood are.
The eyes of spring, so azure,Are peeping from the ground;They are the darling violets,That I in nosegays bound.
I pluck them, thinking deeply,And all the thoughts so dear,That in my heart are sighing,The nightingale sings clear.
Yes, all my thoughts she singethAnd warbleth, echoing far;So that my tender secretsKnown to the whole wood are.
When thy dress doth gently touch me,As thou pass’st before my face,How my heart exults, how wildlyFollows it thy lovely trace!Then thou turnest round and gazestWith thy large bright eyes on me,And my heart doth feel so startled,That it scarce can follow thee.
When thy dress doth gently touch me,As thou pass’st before my face,How my heart exults, how wildlyFollows it thy lovely trace!Then thou turnest round and gazestWith thy large bright eyes on me,And my heart doth feel so startled,That it scarce can follow thee.
When thy dress doth gently touch me,As thou pass’st before my face,How my heart exults, how wildlyFollows it thy lovely trace!
Then thou turnest round and gazestWith thy large bright eyes on me,And my heart doth feel so startled,That it scarce can follow thee.
The slender water-lilyPeeps dreamingly out of the lake;The moon, oppress’d with love’s sorrow,Looks tenderly down for her sake.With blushes she bends to the waterOnce more her head so sweet—Then sees she the poor pale fellowLying before her feet.
The slender water-lilyPeeps dreamingly out of the lake;The moon, oppress’d with love’s sorrow,Looks tenderly down for her sake.With blushes she bends to the waterOnce more her head so sweet—Then sees she the poor pale fellowLying before her feet.
The slender water-lilyPeeps dreamingly out of the lake;The moon, oppress’d with love’s sorrow,Looks tenderly down for her sake.
With blushes she bends to the waterOnce more her head so sweet—Then sees she the poor pale fellowLying before her feet.
If thou hast good eyes, and look’stIn my songs, when thou hast tried them,Thou wilt see a fair young maidenWandering up and down inside them.If thou hast good ears as well,Thou canst hear her voice quite clearly,And her sighing, laughing, singingThy poor heart will madden nearly.For she will, with look and word,Thee, like me, make wellnigh crazy:An enamour’d springtime-dreamerThou wilt tread the forest mazy.
If thou hast good eyes, and look’stIn my songs, when thou hast tried them,Thou wilt see a fair young maidenWandering up and down inside them.If thou hast good ears as well,Thou canst hear her voice quite clearly,And her sighing, laughing, singingThy poor heart will madden nearly.For she will, with look and word,Thee, like me, make wellnigh crazy:An enamour’d springtime-dreamerThou wilt tread the forest mazy.
If thou hast good eyes, and look’stIn my songs, when thou hast tried them,Thou wilt see a fair young maidenWandering up and down inside them.
If thou hast good ears as well,Thou canst hear her voice quite clearly,And her sighing, laughing, singingThy poor heart will madden nearly.
For she will, with look and word,Thee, like me, make wellnigh crazy:An enamour’d springtime-dreamerThou wilt tread the forest mazy.
What drives thee on, in the spring’s clear night?Thou hast driven the flowers all mad with fright,The violets tremble and shiver;The roses are all with shame so red,The lilies are death-pale, and hang their head,They mourn, and falter, and quiver.O darling moon, what an innocent raceThose sweet flowers are! They are right in this case,I really have acted badly;Yet how could I tell that in wait she would lie,When I was addressing the stars on high,With fierce love raving so madly?
What drives thee on, in the spring’s clear night?Thou hast driven the flowers all mad with fright,The violets tremble and shiver;The roses are all with shame so red,The lilies are death-pale, and hang their head,They mourn, and falter, and quiver.O darling moon, what an innocent raceThose sweet flowers are! They are right in this case,I really have acted badly;Yet how could I tell that in wait she would lie,When I was addressing the stars on high,With fierce love raving so madly?
What drives thee on, in the spring’s clear night?Thou hast driven the flowers all mad with fright,The violets tremble and shiver;The roses are all with shame so red,The lilies are death-pale, and hang their head,They mourn, and falter, and quiver.
O darling moon, what an innocent raceThose sweet flowers are! They are right in this case,I really have acted badly;Yet how could I tell that in wait she would lie,When I was addressing the stars on high,With fierce love raving so madly?
Thou sweetly lookest on meWith eyes so blue and meek;My senses feel all-dreamy,And not a word can I speak.I everywhere am thinkingOf thy blue eyes’ sweet smile;A sea of blue thoughts is spreadingOver my heart the while.
Thou sweetly lookest on meWith eyes so blue and meek;My senses feel all-dreamy,And not a word can I speak.I everywhere am thinkingOf thy blue eyes’ sweet smile;A sea of blue thoughts is spreadingOver my heart the while.
Thou sweetly lookest on meWith eyes so blue and meek;My senses feel all-dreamy,And not a word can I speak.
I everywhere am thinkingOf thy blue eyes’ sweet smile;A sea of blue thoughts is spreadingOver my heart the while.
Once again my heart is vanquish’d,And my rancour is subsiding;Once again hath May breath’d on meFeelings tender and confiding.Once more late and early haste IThrough the walks the most frequented,Under every bonnet seek IFor my fair one’s face lamented.Once more at the verdant riverOn the bridge I take my station;Peradventure she will come there,And will see my desolation.In the waterfall’s loud musicHear I once again soft sighing,And my gentle heart well knowethWhat the white waves are replying.Once again in mazy pathwaysam lost in dreamy vision,And the birds in every thicketHold the fond fool in derision.
Once again my heart is vanquish’d,And my rancour is subsiding;Once again hath May breath’d on meFeelings tender and confiding.Once more late and early haste IThrough the walks the most frequented,Under every bonnet seek IFor my fair one’s face lamented.Once more at the verdant riverOn the bridge I take my station;Peradventure she will come there,And will see my desolation.In the waterfall’s loud musicHear I once again soft sighing,And my gentle heart well knowethWhat the white waves are replying.Once again in mazy pathwaysam lost in dreamy vision,And the birds in every thicketHold the fond fool in derision.
Once again my heart is vanquish’d,And my rancour is subsiding;Once again hath May breath’d on meFeelings tender and confiding.
Once more late and early haste IThrough the walks the most frequented,Under every bonnet seek IFor my fair one’s face lamented.
Once more at the verdant riverOn the bridge I take my station;Peradventure she will come there,And will see my desolation.
In the waterfall’s loud musicHear I once again soft sighing,And my gentle heart well knowethWhat the white waves are replying.
Once again in mazy pathwaysam lost in dreamy vision,And the birds in every thicketHold the fond fool in derision.
The rose is fragrant—yet if she divinethHer own sweet fragrance, if the nightingaleHerself feels what round man’s soul softly twineth,When echoes her sweet song across the vale,—I cannot tell. Yet man is with vexationOft fill’d by truth. If nightingale and roseThe feeling only feign’d, the fabricationWould still be useful, we may well suppose.
The rose is fragrant—yet if she divinethHer own sweet fragrance, if the nightingaleHerself feels what round man’s soul softly twineth,When echoes her sweet song across the vale,—I cannot tell. Yet man is with vexationOft fill’d by truth. If nightingale and roseThe feeling only feign’d, the fabricationWould still be useful, we may well suppose.
The rose is fragrant—yet if she divinethHer own sweet fragrance, if the nightingaleHerself feels what round man’s soul softly twineth,When echoes her sweet song across the vale,—
I cannot tell. Yet man is with vexationOft fill’d by truth. If nightingale and roseThe feeling only feign’d, the fabricationWould still be useful, we may well suppose.
Because I love thee, be not scornful,If, flying, I avoid thy face;How ill accords my visage mournfulWith thine, so fair and full of grace!Because I love thee, every featureGrows pale and thinner day by day;Thou’lt find me but a hideous creature,—I’ll shun thee,—be not scornful, pray.
Because I love thee, be not scornful,If, flying, I avoid thy face;How ill accords my visage mournfulWith thine, so fair and full of grace!Because I love thee, every featureGrows pale and thinner day by day;Thou’lt find me but a hideous creature,—I’ll shun thee,—be not scornful, pray.
Because I love thee, be not scornful,If, flying, I avoid thy face;How ill accords my visage mournfulWith thine, so fair and full of grace!
Because I love thee, every featureGrows pale and thinner day by day;Thou’lt find me but a hideous creature,—I’ll shun thee,—be not scornful, pray.
I wander ’mid the flowers,And blossom with them too;I wander as in vision,And at each step totter anew.O hold me fast, my loved one,Or at thy feet I’ll fall,With love intoxicated,In the garden, in presence of all!
I wander ’mid the flowers,And blossom with them too;I wander as in vision,And at each step totter anew.O hold me fast, my loved one,Or at thy feet I’ll fall,With love intoxicated,In the garden, in presence of all!
I wander ’mid the flowers,And blossom with them too;I wander as in vision,And at each step totter anew.
O hold me fast, my loved one,Or at thy feet I’ll fall,With love intoxicated,In the garden, in presence of all!
As the moon’s fair image quakethIn the raging waves of ocean,Whilst she, in the vault of heaven,Moves with silent peaceful motion,Thus, beloved one, thou art moving,Still and peaceful, and nought quakethIn my heart save thy dear image,While my own heart ’tis that shaketh.
As the moon’s fair image quakethIn the raging waves of ocean,Whilst she, in the vault of heaven,Moves with silent peaceful motion,Thus, beloved one, thou art moving,Still and peaceful, and nought quakethIn my heart save thy dear image,While my own heart ’tis that shaketh.
As the moon’s fair image quakethIn the raging waves of ocean,Whilst she, in the vault of heaven,Moves with silent peaceful motion,Thus, beloved one, thou art moving,Still and peaceful, and nought quakethIn my heart save thy dear image,While my own heart ’tis that shaketh.
The hearts of us two, my loved one,A Holy Alliance have made;They well understood each other,When close together laid.Alas! the rose so youthfulThat decks thy gentle breast,Our poor ally and associate,To death was wellnigh press’d.
The hearts of us two, my loved one,A Holy Alliance have made;They well understood each other,When close together laid.Alas! the rose so youthfulThat decks thy gentle breast,Our poor ally and associate,To death was wellnigh press’d.
The hearts of us two, my loved one,A Holy Alliance have made;They well understood each other,When close together laid.
Alas! the rose so youthfulThat decks thy gentle breast,Our poor ally and associate,To death was wellnigh press’d.
Tell me who first taught clocks to chime,Made minutes, hours, divisions of time?It was a cold and sorrowful elf;He sat in the winter-night, wrapp’d in himself,And counted the mouse’s squeakings mysterious,And the wood-worm’s regular tick so serious.Tell me who first did kisses suggest?It was a mouth all glowing and blest;It kiss’d and it thought of nothing beside.The fair month of May was then in its pride,The flowers were all from the earth fast springing,The sun was laughing, the birds were singing.
Tell me who first taught clocks to chime,Made minutes, hours, divisions of time?It was a cold and sorrowful elf;He sat in the winter-night, wrapp’d in himself,And counted the mouse’s squeakings mysterious,And the wood-worm’s regular tick so serious.Tell me who first did kisses suggest?It was a mouth all glowing and blest;It kiss’d and it thought of nothing beside.The fair month of May was then in its pride,The flowers were all from the earth fast springing,The sun was laughing, the birds were singing.
Tell me who first taught clocks to chime,Made minutes, hours, divisions of time?It was a cold and sorrowful elf;He sat in the winter-night, wrapp’d in himself,And counted the mouse’s squeakings mysterious,And the wood-worm’s regular tick so serious.
Tell me who first did kisses suggest?It was a mouth all glowing and blest;It kiss’d and it thought of nothing beside.The fair month of May was then in its pride,The flowers were all from the earth fast springing,The sun was laughing, the birds were singing.
How the pinks are breathing fragrance!How the thronging stars so tender,Golden bee like, sadly glimmer’Mid the heaven’s blue-violet splendour!Through the gloom of yonder chestnutsGleams the manse, so white and stately,And I hear the glass door rattlingWhile the dear voice thrills me greatly.Sweet alarm and blissful tremor,Soft embraces, terror-bringing—And the youthful rose is list’ning,And the nightingales are singing.
How the pinks are breathing fragrance!How the thronging stars so tender,Golden bee like, sadly glimmer’Mid the heaven’s blue-violet splendour!Through the gloom of yonder chestnutsGleams the manse, so white and stately,And I hear the glass door rattlingWhile the dear voice thrills me greatly.Sweet alarm and blissful tremor,Soft embraces, terror-bringing—And the youthful rose is list’ning,And the nightingales are singing.
How the pinks are breathing fragrance!How the thronging stars so tender,Golden bee like, sadly glimmer’Mid the heaven’s blue-violet splendour!
Through the gloom of yonder chestnutsGleams the manse, so white and stately,And I hear the glass door rattlingWhile the dear voice thrills me greatly.
Sweet alarm and blissful tremor,Soft embraces, terror-bringing—And the youthful rose is list’ning,And the nightingales are singing.
Have I not the self-same visionDreamt before of all these blisses?Were there not these same elysianLooks of love, and flowers, and kisses?By the stream the moon was peepingThrough the foliage of our bower;Marble-gods still watch were keepingAt the entrance in that hour.Ah! I know how soon is overEvery sweet and blissful vision,How the snow’s cold dress doth coverHeart and tree in sad derision.How e’en we are fast congealing,Careless, and no love possessing,We, who’re now so softly feeling,Heart to heart so softly pressing!
Have I not the self-same visionDreamt before of all these blisses?Were there not these same elysianLooks of love, and flowers, and kisses?By the stream the moon was peepingThrough the foliage of our bower;Marble-gods still watch were keepingAt the entrance in that hour.Ah! I know how soon is overEvery sweet and blissful vision,How the snow’s cold dress doth coverHeart and tree in sad derision.How e’en we are fast congealing,Careless, and no love possessing,We, who’re now so softly feeling,Heart to heart so softly pressing!
Have I not the self-same visionDreamt before of all these blisses?Were there not these same elysianLooks of love, and flowers, and kisses?
By the stream the moon was peepingThrough the foliage of our bower;Marble-gods still watch were keepingAt the entrance in that hour.
Ah! I know how soon is overEvery sweet and blissful vision,How the snow’s cold dress doth coverHeart and tree in sad derision.
How e’en we are fast congealing,Careless, and no love possessing,We, who’re now so softly feeling,Heart to heart so softly pressing!
Kisses that one steals in darkness,And in darkness then returns—How such kisses fire the spirit,If with honest love it burns!Pensive, and with fond remembrance,Then the spirit loves to dwellMuch on days that long have vanish’d,Much on future days as well.Yet methinks that too much thinkingDang’rous is, if kiss we will;—Weep, then, rather, darling spirit,For to weep is easier still.
Kisses that one steals in darkness,And in darkness then returns—How such kisses fire the spirit,If with honest love it burns!Pensive, and with fond remembrance,Then the spirit loves to dwellMuch on days that long have vanish’d,Much on future days as well.Yet methinks that too much thinkingDang’rous is, if kiss we will;—Weep, then, rather, darling spirit,For to weep is easier still.
Kisses that one steals in darkness,And in darkness then returns—How such kisses fire the spirit,If with honest love it burns!
Pensive, and with fond remembrance,Then the spirit loves to dwellMuch on days that long have vanish’d,Much on future days as well.
Yet methinks that too much thinkingDang’rous is, if kiss we will;—Weep, then, rather, darling spirit,For to weep is easier still.
There was an aged monarch,His heart was sad, his head was grey;This poor and aged monarchA young wife married one day.There was a handsome page, too,Fair was his hair, and light his mien;The silken train he carriedOf the aforesaid young Queen.Dost know the ancient ballad?It sounds so sweet, it sounds so sadThey both of them must perish,For too much affection they had.
There was an aged monarch,His heart was sad, his head was grey;This poor and aged monarchA young wife married one day.There was a handsome page, too,Fair was his hair, and light his mien;The silken train he carriedOf the aforesaid young Queen.Dost know the ancient ballad?It sounds so sweet, it sounds so sadThey both of them must perish,For too much affection they had.
There was an aged monarch,His heart was sad, his head was grey;This poor and aged monarchA young wife married one day.
There was a handsome page, too,Fair was his hair, and light his mien;The silken train he carriedOf the aforesaid young Queen.
Dost know the ancient ballad?It sounds so sweet, it sounds so sadThey both of them must perish,For too much affection they had.
In my remembrance blossomThe images long forsaken—Within thy voice what is thereBy which so deeply I’m shaken?Say not that thou dost love me!I know that earth’s fairest treasure,Sweet love and happy spring time,’Twould shame beyond all measure.Say not that thou dost love me!A silent kiss I’ll bestow thee;Then smile, when I to-morrowThe withered roses show thee.
In my remembrance blossomThe images long forsaken—Within thy voice what is thereBy which so deeply I’m shaken?Say not that thou dost love me!I know that earth’s fairest treasure,Sweet love and happy spring time,’Twould shame beyond all measure.Say not that thou dost love me!A silent kiss I’ll bestow thee;Then smile, when I to-morrowThe withered roses show thee.
In my remembrance blossomThe images long forsaken—Within thy voice what is thereBy which so deeply I’m shaken?
Say not that thou dost love me!I know that earth’s fairest treasure,Sweet love and happy spring time,’Twould shame beyond all measure.
Say not that thou dost love me!A silent kiss I’ll bestow thee;Then smile, when I to-morrowThe withered roses show thee.
“Linden blossoms drunk with moonlight“Fly about in fragrant showers,“And the nightingale’s sweet music“Fills the air and leafy bowers.“Ah! how sweet it is, my loved one,“‘Neath these lindens to be sitting,“When the glimm’ring golden moonbeams“Through the fragrant leaves are flitting.“If thou lookest on the lime-leaf,“Thou a heart’s form wilt discover;“Therefore are the lindens ever“Chosen seats of each fond lover.“Yet thou smilest, as though buried“In far distant visions yearning—“Speak, belovèd, all the wishes“That in thy dear heart are burning.”Ah, my darling! I will tell theeWhence my thoughts proceed, and whither:Fain I’d see the chilly north-windSudden bring white snowstorms hither.So that we, with furs well cover’d,And in gaudy sledges riding,Cracking whips, with bells loud ringing,Might o’er stream and plain be gliding.
“Linden blossoms drunk with moonlight“Fly about in fragrant showers,“And the nightingale’s sweet music“Fills the air and leafy bowers.“Ah! how sweet it is, my loved one,“‘Neath these lindens to be sitting,“When the glimm’ring golden moonbeams“Through the fragrant leaves are flitting.“If thou lookest on the lime-leaf,“Thou a heart’s form wilt discover;“Therefore are the lindens ever“Chosen seats of each fond lover.“Yet thou smilest, as though buried“In far distant visions yearning—“Speak, belovèd, all the wishes“That in thy dear heart are burning.”Ah, my darling! I will tell theeWhence my thoughts proceed, and whither:Fain I’d see the chilly north-windSudden bring white snowstorms hither.So that we, with furs well cover’d,And in gaudy sledges riding,Cracking whips, with bells loud ringing,Might o’er stream and plain be gliding.
“Linden blossoms drunk with moonlight“Fly about in fragrant showers,“And the nightingale’s sweet music“Fills the air and leafy bowers.
“Ah! how sweet it is, my loved one,“‘Neath these lindens to be sitting,“When the glimm’ring golden moonbeams“Through the fragrant leaves are flitting.
“If thou lookest on the lime-leaf,“Thou a heart’s form wilt discover;“Therefore are the lindens ever“Chosen seats of each fond lover.
“Yet thou smilest, as though buried“In far distant visions yearning—“Speak, belovèd, all the wishes“That in thy dear heart are burning.”
Ah, my darling! I will tell theeWhence my thoughts proceed, and whither:Fain I’d see the chilly north-windSudden bring white snowstorms hither.
So that we, with furs well cover’d,And in gaudy sledges riding,Cracking whips, with bells loud ringing,Might o’er stream and plain be gliding.
Through the forest, in the moonlight,I the elves saw riding proudly;And I heard their trumpets sounding,And I hear their bells ring loudly.Their white horses had upon themGolden staghorns, whilst proceedingSwiftly on—like flights of wild swansThrough the air the train was speeding.Smilingly the queen bent tow’rds me,Smiling, as the band rode by me;Is’t a sign that new love’s coming,Or a sign that death is nigh me?
Through the forest, in the moonlight,I the elves saw riding proudly;And I heard their trumpets sounding,And I hear their bells ring loudly.Their white horses had upon themGolden staghorns, whilst proceedingSwiftly on—like flights of wild swansThrough the air the train was speeding.Smilingly the queen bent tow’rds me,Smiling, as the band rode by me;Is’t a sign that new love’s coming,Or a sign that death is nigh me?
Through the forest, in the moonlight,I the elves saw riding proudly;And I heard their trumpets sounding,And I hear their bells ring loudly.
Their white horses had upon themGolden staghorns, whilst proceedingSwiftly on—like flights of wild swansThrough the air the train was speeding.
Smilingly the queen bent tow’rds me,Smiling, as the band rode by me;Is’t a sign that new love’s coming,Or a sign that death is nigh me?
In the morning send I violets,Early in the wood discover’d,And at evening bring I rosesPluck’d while twilight’s hour still hover’d.Knowest thou the hidden languageBy these lovely flowerets spoken?Truth by day-time, love at night-time—’Tis of this that they’re the token!
In the morning send I violets,Early in the wood discover’d,And at evening bring I rosesPluck’d while twilight’s hour still hover’d.Knowest thou the hidden languageBy these lovely flowerets spoken?Truth by day-time, love at night-time—’Tis of this that they’re the token!
In the morning send I violets,Early in the wood discover’d,And at evening bring I rosesPluck’d while twilight’s hour still hover’d.
Knowest thou the hidden languageBy these lovely flowerets spoken?Truth by day-time, love at night-time—’Tis of this that they’re the token!
Thy letter, sent to prove me,Inflicts no sense of wrong;No longer wilt thou love me,—Thy letter, though, is long.Twelve sides, to tell thy views all!A manuscript, in fact!In giving a refusalFar otherwise we act.
Thy letter, sent to prove me,Inflicts no sense of wrong;No longer wilt thou love me,—Thy letter, though, is long.Twelve sides, to tell thy views all!A manuscript, in fact!In giving a refusalFar otherwise we act.
Thy letter, sent to prove me,Inflicts no sense of wrong;No longer wilt thou love me,—Thy letter, though, is long.
Twelve sides, to tell thy views all!A manuscript, in fact!In giving a refusalFar otherwise we act.
Care not, if my love I’m tellingUnto all the world around,When my mouth, thy beauty praising,Full of metaphor is found.Underneath a wood of flowers,Lies in shelter safe below,All that deep and glowing secret,All that deep and secret glow.If suspicious sparks should issueFrom the roses,—fearless be!This dull world in flames believes not,But believes them poetry.
Care not, if my love I’m tellingUnto all the world around,When my mouth, thy beauty praising,Full of metaphor is found.Underneath a wood of flowers,Lies in shelter safe below,All that deep and glowing secret,All that deep and secret glow.If suspicious sparks should issueFrom the roses,—fearless be!This dull world in flames believes not,But believes them poetry.
Care not, if my love I’m tellingUnto all the world around,When my mouth, thy beauty praising,Full of metaphor is found.
Underneath a wood of flowers,Lies in shelter safe below,All that deep and glowing secret,All that deep and secret glow.
If suspicious sparks should issueFrom the roses,—fearless be!This dull world in flames believes not,But believes them poetry.
Day and night alike the springtimeMakes with sounding life all-teeming;Like a verdant echo can itEnter even in my dreaming.Then the birds sing yet more sweetlyThan before, and softer breezesFill the air, the violet’s fragranceWith still wilder yearning pleases.E’en the roses blossom redder,And a child-like golden gloryBear they, like the heads of angelsIn the pictures of old story.And myself I almost fancySome sweet nightingale, when singingOf my love to those fair roses,Wondrous songs my vision bringing—Till I’m waken’d by the sunlight,Or by that delicious bustleOf the nightingales of springtimeThat before my window rustle.
Day and night alike the springtimeMakes with sounding life all-teeming;Like a verdant echo can itEnter even in my dreaming.Then the birds sing yet more sweetlyThan before, and softer breezesFill the air, the violet’s fragranceWith still wilder yearning pleases.E’en the roses blossom redder,And a child-like golden gloryBear they, like the heads of angelsIn the pictures of old story.And myself I almost fancySome sweet nightingale, when singingOf my love to those fair roses,Wondrous songs my vision bringing—Till I’m waken’d by the sunlight,Or by that delicious bustleOf the nightingales of springtimeThat before my window rustle.
Day and night alike the springtimeMakes with sounding life all-teeming;Like a verdant echo can itEnter even in my dreaming.
Then the birds sing yet more sweetlyThan before, and softer breezesFill the air, the violet’s fragranceWith still wilder yearning pleases.
E’en the roses blossom redder,And a child-like golden gloryBear they, like the heads of angelsIn the pictures of old story.
And myself I almost fancySome sweet nightingale, when singingOf my love to those fair roses,Wondrous songs my vision bringing—
Till I’m waken’d by the sunlight,Or by that delicious bustleOf the nightingales of springtimeThat before my window rustle.
Stars with golden feet are wand’ringYonder, and they gently weepThat they cannot earth awaken,Who in night’s arms is asleep.List’ning stand the silent forests,Every leaf an ear doth seem!How its shadowy arm the mountainStretcheth out, as though in dream.What call’d yonder? In my bosomRings the echo of the tone.Was it my beloved one speaking,Or the nightingale alone?
Stars with golden feet are wand’ringYonder, and they gently weepThat they cannot earth awaken,Who in night’s arms is asleep.List’ning stand the silent forests,Every leaf an ear doth seem!How its shadowy arm the mountainStretcheth out, as though in dream.What call’d yonder? In my bosomRings the echo of the tone.Was it my beloved one speaking,Or the nightingale alone?
Stars with golden feet are wand’ringYonder, and they gently weepThat they cannot earth awaken,Who in night’s arms is asleep.
List’ning stand the silent forests,Every leaf an ear doth seem!How its shadowy arm the mountainStretcheth out, as though in dream.
What call’d yonder? In my bosomRings the echo of the tone.Was it my beloved one speaking,Or the nightingale alone?
The spring is solemn, mournful onlyAre all its dreams, each flower appearsWeigh’d down by grief, the song all-lonelyOf Philomel wakes secret tears.O smile thou not, my darling beauty,O smile not, full of charming grace!But weep, that it may be my dutyTo kiss a tear from off thy face.
The spring is solemn, mournful onlyAre all its dreams, each flower appearsWeigh’d down by grief, the song all-lonelyOf Philomel wakes secret tears.O smile thou not, my darling beauty,O smile not, full of charming grace!But weep, that it may be my dutyTo kiss a tear from off thy face.
The spring is solemn, mournful onlyAre all its dreams, each flower appearsWeigh’d down by grief, the song all-lonelyOf Philomel wakes secret tears.
O smile thou not, my darling beauty,O smile not, full of charming grace!But weep, that it may be my dutyTo kiss a tear from off thy face.
Once more from that fond heart I’m drivenWhich I so dearly love, so madly;Once more from that fond heart I’m driven—Beside it would I linger gladly.The chariot rolls, the bridge is quaking,The stream beneath it flows so sadly;Once more the joys am I forsakingOf that fond heart I love so madly.In heav’n rush on the starry legions,As though before my sorrow flying—Sweet one, farewell! in distant regionsMy heart for thee will still be sighing.
Once more from that fond heart I’m drivenWhich I so dearly love, so madly;Once more from that fond heart I’m driven—Beside it would I linger gladly.The chariot rolls, the bridge is quaking,The stream beneath it flows so sadly;Once more the joys am I forsakingOf that fond heart I love so madly.In heav’n rush on the starry legions,As though before my sorrow flying—Sweet one, farewell! in distant regionsMy heart for thee will still be sighing.
Once more from that fond heart I’m drivenWhich I so dearly love, so madly;Once more from that fond heart I’m driven—Beside it would I linger gladly.
The chariot rolls, the bridge is quaking,The stream beneath it flows so sadly;Once more the joys am I forsakingOf that fond heart I love so madly.
In heav’n rush on the starry legions,As though before my sorrow flying—Sweet one, farewell! in distant regionsMy heart for thee will still be sighing.
My cherish’d wishes blossom,And wither again at a breath,And blossom again and wither,And so on until death.This know I, and it saddensAll love and joy, once so blest;My heart is so wise and witty,And bleeds away in my breast.
My cherish’d wishes blossom,And wither again at a breath,And blossom again and wither,And so on until death.This know I, and it saddensAll love and joy, once so blest;My heart is so wise and witty,And bleeds away in my breast.
My cherish’d wishes blossom,And wither again at a breath,And blossom again and wither,And so on until death.
This know I, and it saddensAll love and joy, once so blest;My heart is so wise and witty,And bleeds away in my breast.
Like an old man’s face confoundedIs the sky so broad and airy,Red, one-eyed, and close surroundedBy the grey clouds’ locks all hairyWhen upon the earth it gazes,Flower and bud grow pale and sickly;Love and song in all their phasesFade away from men’s minds quickly.
Like an old man’s face confoundedIs the sky so broad and airy,Red, one-eyed, and close surroundedBy the grey clouds’ locks all hairyWhen upon the earth it gazes,Flower and bud grow pale and sickly;Love and song in all their phasesFade away from men’s minds quickly.
Like an old man’s face confoundedIs the sky so broad and airy,Red, one-eyed, and close surroundedBy the grey clouds’ locks all hairyWhen upon the earth it gazes,Flower and bud grow pale and sickly;Love and song in all their phasesFade away from men’s minds quickly.
With sullen thoughts in chilly bosom cherish’d,I travel sullen through the world so cold;The autumn’s end hath come, a humid mist doth holdDeep veil’d from sight the country drear and perish’d.The winds are piping, hither, thither bendingThe red-tinged leaves, that from the trees fall fast,The bare plain steams, the wood sighs ’neath the blast,The worst of all comes next—the rain’s descending!
With sullen thoughts in chilly bosom cherish’d,I travel sullen through the world so cold;The autumn’s end hath come, a humid mist doth holdDeep veil’d from sight the country drear and perish’d.The winds are piping, hither, thither bendingThe red-tinged leaves, that from the trees fall fast,The bare plain steams, the wood sighs ’neath the blast,The worst of all comes next—the rain’s descending!
With sullen thoughts in chilly bosom cherish’d,I travel sullen through the world so cold;The autumn’s end hath come, a humid mist doth holdDeep veil’d from sight the country drear and perish’d.
The winds are piping, hither, thither bendingThe red-tinged leaves, that from the trees fall fast,The bare plain steams, the wood sighs ’neath the blast,The worst of all comes next—the rain’s descending!
Late autumnal mists all-drippingSpread o’er hill and valley fair;Storms the trees of leaves are stripping,And they ghostly look, and bare.But one single sad tree onlySilent and unstripp’d is seen;Moist with tears of woe, and lonely,Shaketh he his head still green.Ah! this waste my heart displayeth,And the tree, still full of life,Summer-green, thy form portrayeth,Much beloved and beauteous wife!
Late autumnal mists all-drippingSpread o’er hill and valley fair;Storms the trees of leaves are stripping,And they ghostly look, and bare.But one single sad tree onlySilent and unstripp’d is seen;Moist with tears of woe, and lonely,Shaketh he his head still green.Ah! this waste my heart displayeth,And the tree, still full of life,Summer-green, thy form portrayeth,Much beloved and beauteous wife!
Late autumnal mists all-drippingSpread o’er hill and valley fair;Storms the trees of leaves are stripping,And they ghostly look, and bare.
But one single sad tree onlySilent and unstripp’d is seen;Moist with tears of woe, and lonely,Shaketh he his head still green.
Ah! this waste my heart displayeth,And the tree, still full of life,Summer-green, thy form portrayeth,Much beloved and beauteous wife!
Grey’s the sky and every-day like,And the town still looks afflicted;Ever weak and castaway like,In the Elbe its form’s depicted.Long each nose is, and its blowingTedious an affair as ever;All with pride are overflowing,Both at pomp and cringing clever.Beauteous South! O, how adore IAll thy gods, thy sky’s sweet blisses,Since these human dregs once more ISee, and weather foul as this is!
Grey’s the sky and every-day like,And the town still looks afflicted;Ever weak and castaway like,In the Elbe its form’s depicted.Long each nose is, and its blowingTedious an affair as ever;All with pride are overflowing,Both at pomp and cringing clever.Beauteous South! O, how adore IAll thy gods, thy sky’s sweet blisses,Since these human dregs once more ISee, and weather foul as this is!
Grey’s the sky and every-day like,And the town still looks afflicted;Ever weak and castaway like,In the Elbe its form’s depicted.
Long each nose is, and its blowingTedious an affair as ever;All with pride are overflowing,Both at pomp and cringing clever.
Beauteous South! O, how adore IAll thy gods, thy sky’s sweet blisses,Since these human dregs once more ISee, and weather foul as this is!
On my life, a life of darkness,Once a vision sweet shone bright;Now that vision sweet hath faded,And I’m veil’d in utter night.When in darkness children wander,Soon their spirits die away,And to overcome their terror,Some loud song straight carol they.I, a foolish child, am singingIn the darkness spread around;Though my song may give no pleasure,Yet mine anguish it hath drown’d.
On my life, a life of darkness,Once a vision sweet shone bright;Now that vision sweet hath faded,And I’m veil’d in utter night.When in darkness children wander,Soon their spirits die away,And to overcome their terror,Some loud song straight carol they.I, a foolish child, am singingIn the darkness spread around;Though my song may give no pleasure,Yet mine anguish it hath drown’d.
On my life, a life of darkness,Once a vision sweet shone bright;Now that vision sweet hath faded,And I’m veil’d in utter night.
When in darkness children wander,Soon their spirits die away,And to overcome their terror,Some loud song straight carol they.
I, a foolish child, am singingIn the darkness spread around;Though my song may give no pleasure,Yet mine anguish it hath drown’d.
In vain would I seek to discoverWhy sad and mournful am I;My thoughts without ceasing brood overA tale of the times gone by.The air is cool, and it darkleth,And calmly flows the Rhine;The peak of the mountain sparkleth,While evening’s sun doth shine.Yon sits a wondrous maidenOn high, a maiden fair;With bright golden jewels all-laden,She combs her golden hair.She combs it with comb all-golden,And sings the while a song;How strange is that melody olden,As loudly it echoes along!It fills with wild terror the sailorAt sea in his tiny skiff;He looks but on high, and grows paler,Nor sees the rock-girded cliff.The waves will the bark and its masterAt length swallow up, then methought’Tis Lore-ley who this disasterWith her false singing hath wrought.
In vain would I seek to discoverWhy sad and mournful am I;My thoughts without ceasing brood overA tale of the times gone by.The air is cool, and it darkleth,And calmly flows the Rhine;The peak of the mountain sparkleth,While evening’s sun doth shine.Yon sits a wondrous maidenOn high, a maiden fair;With bright golden jewels all-laden,She combs her golden hair.She combs it with comb all-golden,And sings the while a song;How strange is that melody olden,As loudly it echoes along!It fills with wild terror the sailorAt sea in his tiny skiff;He looks but on high, and grows paler,Nor sees the rock-girded cliff.The waves will the bark and its masterAt length swallow up, then methought’Tis Lore-ley who this disasterWith her false singing hath wrought.
In vain would I seek to discoverWhy sad and mournful am I;My thoughts without ceasing brood overA tale of the times gone by.
The air is cool, and it darkleth,And calmly flows the Rhine;The peak of the mountain sparkleth,While evening’s sun doth shine.
Yon sits a wondrous maidenOn high, a maiden fair;With bright golden jewels all-laden,She combs her golden hair.
She combs it with comb all-golden,And sings the while a song;How strange is that melody olden,As loudly it echoes along!
It fills with wild terror the sailorAt sea in his tiny skiff;He looks but on high, and grows paler,Nor sees the rock-girded cliff.
The waves will the bark and its masterAt length swallow up, then methought’Tis Lore-ley who this disasterWith her false singing hath wrought.