The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume Vi Part 2

7[11]

I'll breathe my soul and its secret In the lily's chalice white; The lily shall thrill and reecho A song of my heart's delight.

The song shall quiver and tremble, Even as did the kiss That her rosy lips once gave me In a moment of wondrous bliss.

8[12]

The stars have stood unmoving Upon the heavenly plains For ages, gazing each on each, With all a lover's pains.

They speak a n.o.ble language, Copious and rich and strong; Yet none of your greatest schoolmen Can understand that tongue.

But I have learnt it, and never Can forget it for my part-- For I used as my only grammar The face of the joy of my heart.

9[13]

On the wings of song far sweeping, Heart's dearest, with me thou'lt go Away where the Ganges is creeping; Its loveliest garden I know--

A garden where roses are burning In the moonlight all silent there; Where the lotus-flowers are yearning For their sister beloved and fair.

The violets t.i.tter, caressing, Peeping up as the planets appear, And the roses, their warm love confessing, Whisper words, soft-perfumed, to each ear.

And, gracefully lurking or leaping, The gentle gazelles come round: While afar, deep rushing and sweeping, The waves of the Ganges sound.

We'll lie there in slumber sinking Neath the palm-trees by the stream, Rapture and rest deep drinking, Dreaming the happiest dream.

10[14]

The lotos flower is troubled By the sun's too garish gleam, She droops, and with folded petals Awaiteth the night in a dream.

'Tis the moon has won her favor, His light her spirit doth wake, Her virgin bloom she unveileth All gladly for his dear sake.

Unfolding and glowing and shining She yearns toward his cloudy height; She trembles to tears and to perfume With pain of her love's delight.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FLOWER FANTASY _Train the Painting by Ludwig von Hofmann._]

11[15]

The Rhine's bright wave serenely Reflects as it pa.s.ses by Cologne that lifts her queenly Cathedral towers on high.

A picture hangs in the dome there, On leather with gold bedight, Whose beauty oft when I roam there Sheds hope on my troubled night.

For cherubs and flowers are wreathing Our Lady with tender grace; Her eyes, cheeks, and lips half-breathing Resemble my loved one's face.

12[16]

I am not wroth, my own lost love, although My heart is breaking--wroth I am not, no!

For all thou dost in diamonds blaze, no ray Of light into thy heart's night finds its way.

I saw thee in a dream. Oh, piteous sight!

I saw thy heart all empty, all in night; I saw the serpent gnawing at thy heart; I saw how wretched, O my love, thou art!

13[17]

When thou shalt lie, my darling, low In the dark grave, where they hide thee, Then down to thee I will surely go, And nestle in beside thee.

Wildly I'll kiss and clasp thee there, Pale, cold, and silent lying; Shout, shudder, weep in dumb despair, Beside my dead love dying.

The midnight calls, up rise the dead, And dance in airy swarms there; We twain quit not our earthly bed, I lie wrapt in your arms there.

Up rise the dead; the Judgment-day To bliss or anguish calls them; We twain lie on as before we lay, And heed not what befalls them.

14[18]

A young man loved a maiden, But she for another has sigh'd; That other, he loves another, And makes her at length his bride.

The maiden marries, in anger, The first adventurous wight That chance may fling before her; The youth is in piteous plight.

The story is old as ages, Yet happens again and again; The last to whom it happen'd, His heart is rent in twain.

15[19]

A lonely pine is standing On the crest of a northern height; He sleeps, and a snow-wrought mantle Enshrouds him through the night.

He's dreaming of a palm-tree Afar in a tropic land, That grieves alone in silence 'Mid quivering leagues of sand.

16[20]

My love, we were sitting together In a skiff, thou and I alone; 'Twas night, very still was the weather, Still the great sea we floated on.

Fair isles in the moonlight were lying, Like spirits, asleep in a trance; Their strains of sweet music were sighing, And the mists heaved in an eery dance.

And ever, more sweet, the strains rose there, The mists flitted lightly and free; But we floated on with our woes there, Forlorn on that wide, wide sea.

17[21]

I see thee nightly in dreams, my sweet, Thine eyes the old welcome making, And I fling me down at thy dear feet With the cry of a heart that is breaking.

Thou lookest at me in woful wise With a smile so sad and holy, And pearly tear-drops from thine eyes Steal silently and slowly.

Whispering a word, thou lay'st on my hair A wreath with sad cypress shotten; awake, the wreath is no longer there, And the word I have forgotten.

SONNETS (1822)

TO MY MOTHER