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From Wilhelm Meister.

MIGNON.

- WHO never eat with tears his bread,
- Who never through night’s heavy hours
- Sat weeping on his lonely bed,—
- He knows you not, ye heavenly powers!
- Through you the paths of life we gain,
- Ye let poor mortals go astray,
- And then abandon them to pain,—
- E’en here the penalty we pay.

THE SAME.

MY grief no mortals know,
Except the yearning!
Alone, a prey to woe,
All pleasure spurning,
Up tow’rds the sky I throw
A gaze discerning.
He who my love can know
Seems ne’er returning;
With strange and fiery glow
My heart is burning.
My grief no mortals know,
Except the yearning!

THE HARPER.

- WHO gives himself to solitude,
- Soon lonely will remain;
- Each lives, each loves in joyous mood,
- And leaves him to his pain.
- Yes! leave me to my grief!
- Were solitude’s relief
- E’er granted me,
- Alone I should not be.
- A lover steals, on footstep light,
- To learn if his love’s alone;
- Thus o’er me steals, by day and night,
- Anguish before unknown,
- Thus o’er me steals deep grief.
- Ah, when I find relief
- Within the tomb so lonely,
- Will rest be met with only!

PHILINE.

- SING no more in mournful tones
- Of the loneliness of night;
- For ’tis made, ye beauteous ones,
- For all social pleasures bright.
- As of old to man a wife
- As his better half was given,
- So the night is half our life,
- And the fairest under heaven.
- How can ye enjoy the day,
- Which obstructs our rapture’s tide?
- Let it waste itself away;
- Worthless ’tis for aught beside.
- But when in the darkling hours
- From the lamp soft rays are glowing,
- And from mouth to mouth sweet showers,
- Now of jest, now love, are flowing,—
- When the nimble, wanton boy,
- Who so wildly spends his days,
- Oft amid light sports with joy
- O’er some trifling gift delays,—
- When the nightingale is singing
- Strains the lover holds so dear,
- Though like sighs and wailings ringing
- In the mournful captive’s ear,—
- With what heart-emotion bless’d
- Do ye hearken to the bell,
- Wont of safety and of rest
- With twelve solemn strokes to tell!
- Therefore in each heavy hour,
- Let this precept fill your heart:
- O’er each day will sorrow lour,
- Rapture ev’ry night impart.

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From Wilhelm Meister. - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Goethe’s Works, vol. 1 (Poems) [1885]

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Part of: Goethe’s Works, 5 vols.