Song And Structure.

Let the Greek his plastic clay

Mould in human fashion,
While his own creation may

Wake his glowing passion;

But it is our joy to court

Great Euphrates' torrent,
Here and there at will to sport

In the Wat'ry current.

Quench'd I thus my spirit's flame,

Songs had soon resounded;
Water drawn by bards whose fame

Pure is, may be rounded.^*

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe was a German writer, poet, playwright, and natural philosopher, born on August 28, 1749, and died on March 22, 1832. He is considered one of the most important literary figures of the modern era. Goethe's best-known work, 'Faust,' is a profound exploration of human ambition, desire, and redemption. His contributions extend beyond literature into various fields, including science and politics. His writings and thoughts have had a lasting influence on Western culture.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

To Mignon.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Simple Poetry

The Muses' Son.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Simple Poetry

Rendsch Name - Book Of Gloom.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Simple Poetry

Idyll.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Power Of Song.

The foaming stream from out the rock
With thunder roar begins to rush,
The oak falls prostrate at the shock,
And mountain-wrecks attend the gush.
With rapturous awe, in wonder lost,
The wanderer hearkens to the sound;
From cliff to cliff he hears it tossed,
Yet knows not whither it is bound:
'Tis thus that song's bright waters pour
From sources never known before.

In union with those dreaded ones
That spin life's thread all-silently,
Who can resist the singer's tones?
Who from his magic set him free?
With wand like that the gods bestow,
He guides the heaving bosom's chords,
He steeps it in the realms below,
He bears it, wondering, heavenward,
And rocks it, 'twixt the grave and gay,
On feeling's scales that trembling sway.

As whe...

Friedrich Schiller

The Muses' Son.

THROUGH field and wood to stray,
And pipe my tuneful lay,

'Tis thus my days are pass'd;
And all keep tune with me,
And move in harmony,

And so on, to the last.

To wait I scarce have power
The garden's earliest flower,

The tree's first bloom in Spring;
They hail my joyous strain,
When Winter comes again,

Of that sweet dream I sing.

My song sounds far and near,
O'er ice it echoes clear,

Then Winter blossoms bright;
And when his blossoms fly,
Fresh raptures meet mine eye,

Upon the well-till'd height.

When 'neath the linden tree,
Young folks I chance to see,

I set them moving soon;
His nose the dull lad curls,
The formal maiden whirls,

Obedient to my tune.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Discord.

When by the brook his strain

Cupid is fluting,
And on the neighboring plain

Mayors disputing,
There turns the ear ere long,

Loving and tender,
Yet to the noise a song

Soon must surrender.
Loud then the flute-notes glad

Sound 'mid war's thunder;
If I grow raving mad,

Is it a wonder?
Flutes sing and trumpets bray,

Waxing yet stronger;
If, then, my senses stray,

Wonder no longer.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Venetian Epigrams.

Urn and sarcophagus erst were with life adorn'd by the heathen

Fauns are dancing around, while with the Bacchanal troop
Chequerd circles they trace; and the goat-footed, puffy-cheekd player

Wildly produceth hoarse tones out of the clamorous horn.
Cymbals and drums resound; we see and we hear, too, the marble.

Fluttering bird! oh how sweet tastes the ripe fruit to thy bill!
Noise there is none to disturb thee, still less to scare away Amor,

Who, in the midst of the throng, learns to delight in his torch.
Thus doth fullness overcome death; and the ashes there cover'd

Seem, in that silent domain, still to be gladdend with life.
Thus may the minstrel's sarcophagus be hereafter surrounded

With such a scroll, which himself richly with life has adorn'd.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Idyll.

A village Chorus is supposed to be assembled, and about to commence its festive procession.


CHORUS.

THE festal day hail ye

With garlands of pleasure,

And dances' soft measure,
With rapture commingled
And sweet choral song.

DAMON.

Oh, how I yearn from out the crowd to flee!
What joy a secret glade would give to me!
Amid the throng, the turmoil here,
Confined the plain, the breezes e'en appear.

CHORUS.

Now order it truly,
That ev'ry one duly
May roam and may wander,
Now here, and now yonder,

The meadows along.

[The Chorus retreats gradually, and the song becomes fainter and fainter, till it dies away in the distance.]

DAMON.

In vain ye call, in vain would lure me on...

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Winter Journey Over The Hartz Mountains.

Like the vulture
Who on heavy morning clouds
With gentle wing reposing
Looks for his prey,
Hover, my song!

For a God hath
Unto each prescribed
His destined path,
Which the happy one
Runs o'er swiftly
To his glad goal:
He whose heart cruel
Fate hath contracted,
Struggles but vainly
Against all the barriers
The brazen thread raises,
But which the harsh shears
Must one day sever.

Through gloomy thickets
Presseth the wild deer on,
And with the sparrows
Long have the wealthy
Settled themselves in the marsh.

Easy 'tis following the chariot
That by Fortune is driven,
Like the baggage that moves
Over well-mended highways
After the train of a prince.

But who stands there apart?
In ...

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe