Epitaph On A Certain Physiognomist.

On every nose he rightly read
What intellects were in the head
And yet that he was not the one
By whom God meant it to be done,
This on his own he never read.

Friedrich Schiller

Friedrich Schiller was a renowned German poet, philosopher, physician, historian, and playwright. Born on November 10, 1759, in Marbach am Neckar, and passing away on May 9, 1805, in Weimar, Schiller is considered one of the most important figures in German literature. His works, including 'Ode to Joy' and 'William Tell', have left a lasting impact on Western literature and thought.

Friedrich Schiller

The Antiques At Paris.

Friedrich Schiller, Simple Poetry

My Antipathy.

Friedrich Schiller, Simple Poetry

The Satyr And My Muse.

Friedrich Schiller, Simple Poetry

The Puppet-Show Of Life.

Friedrich Schiller, Simple Poetry

English

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Epitaph.

Here lies a man cut off by fate
Too soon for all good men;
For sextons he died late too late
For those who wield the pen.

Friedrich Schiller

The Moral Poet.

Man is in truth a poor creature, I know it, and fain would forget it;
Therefore (how sorry I am!) came I, alas, unto thee!

Friedrich Schiller

A Poet's Epitaph

Art thou a Statist in the van
Of public conflicts trained and bred?
First learn to love one living man;
'Then' may'st thou think upon the dead.

A Lawyer art thou? draw not nigh!
Go, carry to some fitter place
The keenness of that practised eye,
The hardness of that sallow face.

Art thou a Man of purple cheer?
A rosy Man, right plump to see?
Approach; yet, Doctor, not too near,
This grave no cushion is for thee.

Or art thou one of gallant pride,
A Soldier and no man of chaff?
Welcome! but lay thy sword aside,
And lean upon a peasant's staff.

Physician art thou? one, all eyes,
Philosopher! a fingering slave,
One that would peep and botanise
Upon his mother's grave?

Wrapt closely in thy sensual fleece,
O turn...

William Wordsworth

Epitaph.

As a boy, reserved and naughty;
As a youth, a coxcomb and haughty;
As a man, for action inclined;
As a greybeard, fickle in mind.
Upon thy grave will people read:
This was a very man, indeed!

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Rousseau.

Monument of our own age's shame,
On thy country casting endless blame,
Rousseau's grave, how dear thou art to me
Calm repose be to thy ashes blest!
In thy life thou vainly sought'st for rest,
But at length 'twas here obtained by thee!

When will ancient wounds be covered o'er?
Wise men died in heathen days of yore;
Now 'tis lighter yet they die again.
Socrates was killed by sophists vile,
Rousseau meets his death through Christians' wile,
Rousseau who would fain make Christians men!

Friedrich Schiller

The Philosophers.

PUPIL.
I am rejoiced, worthy sirs, to find you in pleno assembled;
For I have come down below, seeking the one needful thing.

ARISTOTLE.
Quick to the point, my good friend! For the Jena Gazette comes to hand here,
Even in hell, so we know all that is passing above.

PUPIL.
So much the better! So give me (I will not depart hence without it)
Some good principle now, one that will always avail!

FIRST PHILOSOPHER.
Cogito, ergo sum. I have thought, and therefore existence!
If the first be but true, then is the second one sure.

PUPIL.
As I think, I exist. 'Tis good! But who always is thinking?
Oft I've existed e'en when I have been thinking of naught.

SECOND PHILOSOPHER.
Since there are things that exist, a thing of all things there must...

Friedrich Schiller