Go to the Grave
by Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864)

Go to the grave where friends are laid,
And learn how quickly mortals fade,
Learn how the fairest flower must droop,
Learn how the strongest form must stoop,
Learn that we are but dust and clay,
The short-liv’d creatures of a day.
Yet do not sigh — there is a clime,
Where they will dwell through endless time,
Who here on earth their Maker serve,
And never from his precepts swerve.
The grave to them is but a road,
That leads them to that blest abode.

Views: 49

Each and All
by Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown
Of thee from the hill-top looking down;
The heifer that lows in the upland farm,
Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm;
The sexton, tolling his bell at noon,
Deems not that great Napoleon
Stops his horse, and lists with delight,
Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height;
Nor knowest thou what argument
Thy life to thy neighbor’s creed has lent.
All are needed by each one;
Nothing is fair or good alone.
I thought the sparrow’s note from heaven,
Singing at dawn on the alder bough;
I brought him home, in his nest, at even;
He sings the song, but it cheers not now,
For I did not bring home the river and sky;—
He sang to my ear,—they sang to my eye.
The delicate shells lay on the shore;
The bubbles of the latest wave
Fresh pearls to their enamel gave,
And the bellowing of the savage sea
Greeted their safe escape to me.
I wiped away the weeds and foam,
I fetched my sea-born treasures home;
But the poor, unsightly, noisome things
Had left their beauty on the shore
With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar.
The lover watched his graceful maid,
As ’mid the virgin train she strayed,
Nor knew her beauty’s best attire
Was woven still by the snow-white choir.
At last she came to his hermitage,
Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage;—
The gay enchantment was undone,
A gentle wife, but fairy none.
Then I said, “I covet truth;
Beauty is unripe childhood’s cheat;
I leave it behind with the games of youth:”—
As I spoke, beneath my feet
The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath,
Running over the club-moss burrs;
I inhaled the violet’s breath;
Around me stood the oaks and firs;
Pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground;
Over me soared the eternal sky,
Full of light and of deity;
Again I saw, again I heard,
The rolling river, the morning bird;—
Beauty through my senses stole;
I yielded myself to the perfect whole.

Views: 45

Frühlingslust
by Friedrich Rückert (1788-1866)

Der Frühling lacht von grünen Höh’n,
         Es steht vor ihm die Welt so schön,
         Als seien eines Dichters Träume
         Getreten sichtbar in die Räume.

Wann schöpferisch aus Morgenduft
         Der Sonne Strahl die Wesen ruft,
         Kehrt jedes Herz sich, jede Blume
         Empor zum lichten Heiligthume.

Der Frühling giebt im Walde Tanz,
         Und alle Blumen nah’n im Glanz,
         Wo Mädchen vorzustellen haben
         Die Rosen, und Jasmine Knaben.

Des Paradieses Pforten sind
         Nun aufgethan im Morgenwind,
         Und auf die Erde strömt vom Osten
         Der Duft, den sonst die Sel’gen kosten.

Nun lebt, berührt vom Liebeshauch,
         Das Leben neu, und Todtes auch;
         Der starre Fels vor Sehnsucht bebet,
         Bis auch ein Epheu ihn umwebet.

O Frühlingsodem, Liebeslust,
         O Glück der felsentreuen Brust,
         Die ein Geliebtes an sich drücket,
         Das dankbar sie mit Kränzen schmücket!

Views: 36

Much Madness Is Divinest Sense
by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Much madness is divinest sense
To a discerning eye ;
Much sense the starkest madness.
’T is the majority
In this, as all, prevails.
Assent, and you are sane ;
Demur, — you’re straightway dangerous,
And handled with a chain.

Views: 31

A Noiseless Patient Spider
by Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

A noiseless patient spider,
I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

Views: 22

L’Oiseau Bleu
by Alphonse Daudet (1840-1897)

J’ai dans mon cœur un oiseau bleu,
Une charmante créature,
Si mignonne que sa ceinture
N’a pas l’épaisseur d’un cheveu

Il lui faut du sang pour pâture.
Bien longtemps, je me fis un jeu
De lui donner sa nourriture :
Les petits oiseaux mangent peu.

Mais, sans en rien laisser paraître,
Dans mon cœur il a fait, le traître,
Un trou large comme la main,

Et son bec, fin comme une lame,
En continuant son chemin,
M’est entré jusqu’au fond de l’âme!

Views: 30

Cassandra’
by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882)

                                    I

Rend, rend thy hair, Cassandra: he will go.⁠⁠⁠
      Yea, rend thy garments, wring thy hands, and cry
⁠      From Troy still towered to the unreddened sky.
See, all but she that bore thee mock thy woe:—
He most whom that fair woman arms, with show
⁠      Of wrath on her bent brows; for in this place
⁠      This hour thou bad’st all men in Helen’s face
The ravished ravishing prize of Death to know.

What eyes, what ears hath sweet Andromache,
⁠      Save for her Hector’s form and step; as tear
⁠⁠            On tear make salt the warm last kiss he gave?
He goes. Cassandra’s words beat heavily
⁠      Like crows above his crest, and at his ear
⁠            ⁠Ring hollow in the shield that shall not save.

                                    II

“O Hector, gone, gone, gone! O Hector, thee
⁠      Two chariots wait, in Troy long bless’d and curs’d;
⁠      And Grecian spear and Phrygian sand athirst
Crave from thy veins the blood of victory.
Lo! long upon our hearth the brand had we,
⁠Lit for the roof-tree’s ruin: and to-day
⁠The ground-stone quits the wall,—the wind hath way.—
And higher and higher the wings of fire are free.

O Paris, Paris! O thou burning brand,
⁠      Thou beacon of the sea whence Venus rose,
Lighting thy race to shipwreck! Even that hand
⁠      Wherewith she took thine apple let her close
⁠      Within thy curls at last, and while Troy glows
Lift thee her trophy to the sea and land.”

Views: 31

The Three Ravens
Anonymous ballad
Richard Dyer-Bennet called this “requiem for chivalry.” Here is his version, and Alfred Deller’s, and Peter, Paul and Mary’s, and Andreas Scholl’s.

There were three ravens sat on a tree,
They were as black as they might be.

The one of them said to his make,
“Where shall we our breakfast take?”

“Down in yonder greene field
There lies a knight slain under his shield;

“His hounds they lie down at his feet,
So well they can their master keep;

“His hawks they flie so eagerly,
There’s no fowl dare come him nigh.”

Downe there comes a fallow doe,
As great with young as she might goe.

She lift up his bloody head,
And kist his wounds that were so red.

She gat him up upon her back,
And carried him to earthen lake.

She buried him before the prime,
She was dead herself ere evensong time.

God send every gentleman,
Such hounds, such hawks, and such a leman.

Views: 27

Sonntagsfrühe
by Johann Peter Hebel (1760-1826)

In Allemannic German:

Der Samstig het zum Sunntig gseit:
“Jez hani alli schlofe gleit;
Sie sin vom Schaffe her und hi
Gar sölli müed und schlöfrig gsi,
Und’s gohtmer schier gar selber so,
I cha fast uf kei Bei me stoh.”

So seit er, und wo’s Zwölfi schlacht,
Se sinkt er aben in d’Mitternacht.
Der Sunntig seit: “Jez isch’s an mirt”
Gar still und heimli bschließt er d’Tür.
Er düselet hinter de Sterne no
Und cha schier gar nit obsi cho.

Doch endli ribt er d’Augen us,
Er chunnt der Sunn an Tür und Hus;
Sie schloft im stille Chämmerli;
Er pöpperlet am Lädemli,
Er rüeft der Sunne: “D’Zit isch do!”
Sie seit: “I chumm enanderno.”

Und lisli uf de Zeche goht
Und heiter uf de Berge stoht
Der Sunntig, und’s schloft alles no;
Es sieht und hört en niemes goh;
Er chunnt ins Dorf mit stillem Tritt,
Und winkt im Guhl: “Verrot mi nit!”

Und wemmen endli au verwacht
Und gschlofe het die ganzi Nacht,
Se stoht er do im Sunneschi’
Und luegt eim zu de Fensken i
Mit sinen Auge, mild und guet,
Und mittem Maien uffem Huet.

Drum meint er’s treu, und was i sag,
Es freut en, wemme schlofe mag
Und meint, es seig no dunkel Nacht,
Wenn d’Sunn am heitre Himmel lacht.
Drum isch er au so lisli cho,
Drum stoht er au so liebli do.

Wie glitzeret uf Gras und Laub
Vom Morgetau der Silberstaub!
Wie weiht e frische Maieluft
Voll Chriesibluest und Schlecheduft!
Und d’Immli sammle flink und frisch.
Sie wüsse nit, aß’s Suuntig isch.

Wie pranget nit im Garteland
Der Chriesibaum im Maiegwand!
Gelveieli und Tulipa
Und Sterneblueme nebe dra
Und gfüllti Zinkli, blau und wiiß!
Me meint, me lueg ins Paredies!

Und’s isch so still und heimli do,
Men isch so rüeihig und so froh!
Me hört im Dorf kei Hüst und Hott;
E Guete Tag! und Dank der Gott!
Und ’s git gottlob e schöne Tag!
Isch alles, was me höre mag.

Und’s Vögeli seit: “Frili jo!”
Potz tausig, jo, do isch er scho!
Er dringt jo in si’m Himmelsglast
Dur Bluest und Laub in Hurst und Nast!
Und’s Distelzwigli vorne dra
Het’s Sunntigröckli au scho a.

Sie lüte weger’s Zeiche scho,
Der Pfarrer, schint’s, well zitli cho.
Gang, brechmer eis Aurikli ab,
Verwüschet mer der Staub nit drab;
Und Chüngeli, leg di weidli a,
De muesch derno ne Maie ha!

In standard German:

Continue reading …

Views: 33

Elegie an Emma
by Friedrich Schiller (1759-1805)

Weit in nebelgrauer Ferne
      Liegt mir das vergangne Glück,
Nur an Einem schönen Sterne
      Weilt mit Liebe noch der Blick.
Aber wie des Sternes Pracht
Ist es nur ein Schein der Nacht.

Deckte dir der lange Schlummer,
      Dir der Tod die Augen zu,
Dich besäße doch mein Kummer,
      Meinem Herzen lebtest du.
Aber, ach! du lebst im Licht,
Meiner Liebe lebst du nicht.

Kann der Liebe süß Verlangen,
      Emma, kanns vergänglich seyn?
Was dahin ist und vergangen,
      Emma, kanns die Liebe seyn?
Ob der Liebe Lust auch flieht,
Ihre Pein doch nie verglüht.

Views: 30