The Poems of Goethe, Translated in the Original Metres · Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
1803.* ----- THE SPIRIT'S SALUTE.
For he another's prey bath been. NEVER dry, never dry, Tears that eternal love sheddeth! How dreary, how dead doth the world still appear, When only half-dried on the eye is the tear! Never dry, never dry, Tears that unhappy love sheddeth! THOU who comest from on high, Who all woes and sorrows stillest, Who, for twofold misery, Hearts with twofold balsam fillest, Would this constant strife would cease! What are pain and rapture now? Blissful Peace, To my bosom hasten thou! [Written at night on the Kickelhahn, a hill in the forest of Ilmenau, on the walls of a little hermitage where Goethe composed the last act of his Iphigenia.] HUSH'D on the hill Is the breeze; Scarce by the zephyr The trees Softly are press'd; The woodbird's asleep on the bough. Wait, then, and thou Soon wilt find rest. THE plain with still and wand'ring feet, And gun full-charged, I tread, And hov'ring see thine image sweet, Thine image dear, o'er head. In gentle silence thou dost fare Through field and valley dear; But doth my fleeting image ne'er To thy mind's eye appear? His image, who, by grief oppress'd, Roams through the world forlorn, And wanders on from east to west, Because from thee he's torn? When I would think of none but thee, Mine eyes the moon survey; A calm repose then steals o'er me, But how, 'twere hard to say.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.