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TO CHARLOTTE. - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Goethe’s Works, vol. 1 (Poems) [1885]

Edition used:

Goethe’s Works, illustrated by the best German artists, 5 vols. (Philadelphia: G. Barrie, 1885). Vol. 1.

Part of: Goethe’s Works, 5 vols.

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TO CHARLOTTE.

    • ’MIDST the noise of merriment and glee,
    • ’Midst full many a sorrow, many a care,
    • Charlotte, I remember, we remember thee,
    • How, at evening’s hour so fair,
    • Thou a kindly hand didst reach us,
    • When thou, in some happy place
    • Where more fair is Nature’s face,
    • Many a lightly-hidden trace
    • Of a spirit lov’d didst teach us.
    • Well ’tis that thy worth I rightly knew,—
    • That I, in the hour when first we met,
    • While the first impression fill’d me yet,
    • Call’d thee then a girl both good and true.
    • Rear’d in silence, calmly, knowing nought,
    • On the world we suddenly are thrown;
    • Hundred thousand billows round us sport;
    • All things charm us—many please alone,
    • Many grieve us, and as hour on hour is stealing,
    • To and fro our restless natures sway;
    • First we feel, and then we find each feeling
    • By the changeful world-stream borne away.
    • Well I know, we oft within us find
    • Many a hope and many a smart.
    • Charlotte, who can know our mind?
    • Charlotte, who can know our heart?
    • Ah! ’twould fain be understood, ’twould fain o’erflow
    • In some creature’s fellow-feelings bless’d,
    • And, with trust, in twofold measure know
    • All the grief and joy in Nature’s breast.
    • Then thine eye is oft around thee cast,
    • But in vain, for all seems clos’d forever;
    • Thus the fairest part of life is madly pass’d
    • Free from storm, but resting never;
    • To thy sorrow thou’rt to-day repell’d
    • By what yesterday obey’d thee.
    • Can that world by thee be worthy held
    • Which so oft betray’d thee?
    • Which, ’mid all thy pleasures and thy pains,
    • Liv’d in selfish, unconcern’d repose?
    • See, the soul its secret cells regains,
    • And the heart—makes haste to close.
    • Thus found I thee, and gladly went to meet thee;
    • “She’s worthy of all love!” I cried,
    • And pray’d that Heaven with purest bliss might greet thee,
    • Which in thy friend it richly hath supplied.