  Sometimes when o’er pictures turning You 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 him Though he struggle in dismay. I, too, in such charming fetters, Bind myself with sad delight, And I leave it to my betters In time’s mighty fight to fight. 1.’Neath the white tree sitting sadly, Thou dost hear the far winds wailing, SeËst how the mute clouds o’er thee Are 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 thee Flakes all white, and with vexation Thou dost think the tree is show’ring Snow-dust from that elevation. Soon with joyful start thou findest ’Tis no snow-dust cold and freezing; Fragrant blossoms ’tis of springtime Cov’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. 2.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! 3.The beauteous eyes of the spring’s fair night With 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. 4.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. 5.Sweet May hath come to love us, Flowers, trees, their blossoms don; And through the blue heavens above us The rosy clouds move on. The nightingales are singing On leafy perch aloft; The snowy lambs are springing In 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. 6.Softly through my spirit ring Blissful tones loved dearly; Sound, thou little song of spring, Echoing far and clearly. Sound, till thou the home com’st nigh Of the violet tender; And when thou a rose dost spy, Say, my love I send her. 7.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. 8.17.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 race Those 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? 18.Thou sweetly lookest on me With eyes so blue and meek; My senses feel all-dreamy, And not a word can I speak. I everywhere am thinking Of thy blue eyes’ sweet smile; A sea of blue thoughts is spreading Over my heart the while. 19.Once again my heart is vanquish’d, And my rancour is subsiding; Once again hath May breath’d on me Feelings tender and confiding. Once more late and early haste I Through the walks the most frequented, Under every bonnet seek I For my fair one’s face lamented. Once more at the verdant river On the bridge I take my station; Peradventure she will come there, And will see my desolation. In the waterfall’s loud music Hear I once again soft sighing, And my gentle heart well knoweth What the white waves are replying. Once again in mazy pathways am lost in dreamy vision, And the birds in every thicket Hold the fond fool in derision. 20.The rose is fragrant—yet if she divineth Her own sweet fragrance, if the nightingale Herself feels what round man’s soul softly twineth, When echoes her sweet song across the vale,— I cannot tell. Yet man is with vexation Oft fill’d by truth. If nightingale and rose The feeling only feign’d, the fabrication Would still be useful, we may well suppose. 21.Because I love thee, be not scornful, If, flying, I avoid thy face; How ill accords my visage mournful With thine, so fair and full of grace! Because I love thee, every feature Grows pale and thinner day by day; Thou’lt find me but a hideous creature,— I’ll shun thee,—be not scornful, pray. 22.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! 23.As the moon’s fair image quaketh In the raging waves of ocean, Whilst she, in the vault of heaven, Moves with silent peaceful motion, Still and peaceful, and nought quaketh In my heart save thy dear image, While my own heart ’tis that shaketh. 24.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 youthful That decks thy gentle breast, Our poor ally and associate, To death was wellnigh press’d. 25.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. 26.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 chestnuts Gleams the manse, so white and stately, And I hear the glass door rattling While 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. 27.Have I not the self-same vision Dreamt before of all these blisses? Were there not these same elysian Looks of love, and flowers, and kisses? By the stream the moon was peeping Through the foliage of our bower; Marble-gods still watch were keeping At the entrance in that hour. Ah! I know how soon is over Every sweet and blissful vision, How the snow’s cold dress doth cover Heart 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! 28.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 dwell Much on days that long have vanish’d, Much on future days as well. Yet methinks that too much thinking Dang’rous is, if kiss we will;— Weep, then, rather, darling spirit, For to weep is easier still. 29.There was an aged monarch, His heart was sad, his head was grey; This poor and aged monarch A young wife married one day. There was a handsome page, too, Fair was his hair, and light his mien; The silken train he carried Of the aforesaid young Queen. Dost know the ancient ballad? It sounds so sweet, it sounds so sad They both of them must perish, For too much affection they had. 30.In my remembrance blossom The images long forsaken— Within thy voice what is there By 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-morrow The withered roses show thee. 31.“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 thee Whence my thoughts proceed, and whither: Fain I’d see the chilly north-wind Sudden 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. 32.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 them Golden staghorns, whilst proceeding Swiftly on—like flights of wild swans Through 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? 33.In the morning send I violets, Early in the wood discover’d, And at evening bring I roses Pluck’d while twilight’s hour still hover’d. Knowest thou the hidden language By these lovely flowerets spoken? Truth by day-time, love at night-time— ’Tis of this that they’re the token! 34.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 refusal Far otherwise we act. 35.Care not, if my love I’m telling Unto 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 issue From the roses,—fearless be! This dull world in flames believes not, But believes them poetry. 36.Day and night alike the springtime Makes with sounding life all-teeming; Like a verdant echo can it Enter even in my dreaming. Then the birds sing yet more sweetly Than before, and softer breezes Fill the air, the violet’s fragrance With still wilder yearning pleases. E’en the roses blossom redder, And a child-like golden glory Bear they, like the heads of angels In the pictures of old story. And myself I almost fancy Some sweet nightingale, when singing Of my love to those fair roses, Wondrous songs my vision bringing— Till I’m waken’d by the sunlight, Or by that delicious bustle Of the nightingales of springtime That before my window rustle. 37.Stars with golden feet are wand’ring Yonder, and they gently weep That 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 mountain Stretcheth out, as though in dream. What call’d yonder? In my bosom Rings the echo of the tone. Was it my beloved one speaking, Or the nightingale alone? 38.The spring is solemn, mournful only Are all its dreams, each flower appears Weigh’d down by grief, the song all-lonely Of 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 duty To kiss a tear from off thy face. 39.Once more from that fond heart I’m driven Which 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 forsaking Of 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 regions My heart for thee will still be sighing. 40.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 saddens All love and joy, once so blest; My heart is so wise and witty, And bleeds away in my breast. 41.Like an old man’s face confounded Is the sky so broad and airy, Red, one-eyed, and close surrounded By the grey clouds’ locks all hairy Flower and bud grow pale and sickly; Love and song in all their phases Fade away from men’s minds quickly. 42.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 hold Deep veil’d from sight the country drear and perish’d. The winds are piping, hither, thither bending The 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! 43.Late autumnal mists all-dripping Spread o’er hill and valley fair; Storms the trees of leaves are stripping, And they ghostly look, and bare. But one single sad tree only Silent 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! 44.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 blowing Tedious an affair as ever; All with pride are overflowing, Both at pomp and cringing clever. Beauteous South! O, how adore I All thy gods, thy sky’s sweet blisses, Since these human dregs once more I See, and weather foul as this is! |
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