The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries
Chapter 447 : 7[11]I'll breathe my soul and its secret In the lily's chalice white; The li

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 rus.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+ning 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