The Muse's Mirror.

Early one day, the Muse, when eagerly bent on adornment,
Follow'd a swift-running streamlet, the quietest nook by it seeking.
Quickly and noisily flowing, the changeful surface distorted
Ever her moving form; the goddess departed in anger.
Yet the stream call'd mockingly after her, saying: "What, truly!
Wilt thou not view, then, the truth, in my mirror so clearly depicted?"
But she already was far away, on the brink of the ocean,
In her figure rejoicing, and duly arranging her garland.

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

The Visit.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Simple Poetry

The Friendly Meeting.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Simple Poetry

Art.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Simple Poetry

The Dilettante And The Critic.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Simple Poetry

English

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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

O Muse Divine

O thou, my Muse,
Beside the Kentish River running
Through water-meads where dews
Tossed flashing at thy feet
And tossing flashed again
When the timid herd
By thy swift passing stirred
Up-leapt and ran;

Thou that didst fleet
Thy shadow over dark October hills
By Aston, Weston, Saintbury, Willersey,
Winchcombe, and all the combes and hills
Of the green lonely land;

Thou that in May
Once when I saw thee sunning
Thyself so lovely there
Than the flushed flower more fair
Fallen from the wild apple spray,
Didst rise and sprinkling sunlight with thy hand
Shadow-like disappear in the deep-shadowy hedges
Between forsaken Buckle Street and the sparse sedges
Of young twin-breasted Honeybourne; -

O thou, my Muse,
Scarce ...

John Frederick Freeman

A Plan The Muses Entertained.

A plan the Muses entertain'd

Methodically to impart

To Psyche the poetic art;
Prosaic-pure her soul remain'd.
No wondrous sounds escaped her lyre

E'en in the fairest Summer night;
But Amor came with glance of fire,

The lesson soon was learn'd aright.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Love As A Landscape Painter.

On a rocky peak once sat I early,
Gazing on the mist with eyes unmoving;
Stretch'd out like a pall of greyish texture,
All things round, and all above it cover'd.

Suddenly a boy appear'd beside me,
Saying "Friend, what meanest thou by gazing
On the vacant pall with such composure?
Hast thou lost for evermore all pleasure
Both in painting cunningly, and forming?"
On the child I gazed, and thought in secret:
"Would the boy pretend to be a master?"

"Wouldst thou be for ever dull and idle,"
Said the boy, "no wisdom thou'lt attain to;
See, I'll straightway paint for thee a figure,
How to paint a beauteous figure, show thee."

And he then extended his fore-finger,
(Ruddy was it as a youthful rosebud)
Tow'rd the broad and far outstretching carpe...

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Explanation Of An Ancient Woodcut, Representing Hans Sachs' Poetical Mission.

Early within his workshop here,
On Sundays stands our master dear;
His dirty apron he puts away,
And wears a cleanly doublet to-day;
Lets wax'd thread, hammer, and pincers rest,
And lays his awl within his chest;
The seventh day he takes repose
From many pulls and many blows.

Soon as the spring-sun meets his view,
Repose begets him labour anew;
He feels that he holds within his brain
A little world, that broods there amain,
And that begins to act and to live,
Which he to others would gladly give.

He had a skilful eye and true,
And was full kind and loving too.
For contemplation, clear and pure,
For making all his own again, sure;
He had a tongue that charm'd when 'twas heard,
And graceful and light flow'd ev'ry word;
Which made ...

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

June.

She behind yon mountain lives,
Who my love's sweet guerdon gives.
Tell me, mount, how this can be!
Very glass thou seem'st to me,
And I seem to be close by,
For I see her drawing nigh;
Now, because I'm absent, sad,
Now, because she sees me, glad!

Soon between us rise to sight
Valleys cool, with bushes light,
Streams and meadows; next appear

Mills and wheels, the surest token
That a level spot is near,

Plains far-stretching and unbroken.
And so onwards, onwards roam,
To my garden and my home!

But how comes it then to pass?
All this gives no joy, alas!
I was ravish'd by her sight,
By her eyes so fair and bright,
By her footstep soft and light.
How her peerless charms I praised,
When from head to foot I gazed!...

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe