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MORNING LAMENT. - 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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MORNING LAMENT.

    • O THOU cruel deadly-lovely maiden,
    • Tell me what great sin have I committed
    • That thou keep’st me to the rack thus fasten’d,
    • That thou hast thy solemn promise broken?
    • ’Twas but yestere’en that thou with fondness
    • Press’d my hand, and these sweet accents murmur’d:
    • “Yes, I’ll come, I’ll come when morn approacheth,
    • Come, my friend, full surely to thy chamber.”
    • On the latch I left my doors, unfasten’d,
    • Having first with care tried all the hinges,
    • And rejoic’d right well to find they creak’d not.
    • What a night of expectation pass’d I!
    • For I watch’d, and ev’ry chime I number’d;
    • If perchance I slept a few short moments
    • Still my heart remain’d awake forever,
    • And awoke me from my gentle slumbers.
    • Yes, then bless’d I night’s o’erhanging darkness
    • That so calmly cover’d all things round me;
    • I enjoy’d the universal silence,
    • While I listen’d ever in the silence
    • If perchance the slightest sounds were stirring.
    • “Had she only thoughts my thoughts resembling,
    • Had she only feelings like my feelings,
    • She would not await the dawn of morning,
    • But ere this would surely have been with me.”
    • Skipp’d a kitten on the floor above me,
    • Scratch’d a mouse a panel in the corner,
    • Was there in the house the slightest motion,
    • Ever hoped I that I heard thy footstep,
    • Ever thought I that I heard thee coming.
    • And so lay I long, and ever longer,
    • And already was the daylight dawning,
    • And both here and there were signs of movement.
    • “Is it yon door? Were it my door only!”
    • In my bed I lean’d upon my elbow,
    • Looking tow’rd the door, now half-apparent,
    • If perchance it might not be in motion.
    • Both the wings upon the latch continued,
    • On the quiet hinges calmly hanging.
    • And the day grew bright and brighter ever;
    • And I heard my neighbor’s door unbolted
    • As he went to earn his daily wages;
    • And ere long I heard the wagons rumbling,
    • And the city gates were also open’d,
    • While the market-place in ev’ry corner
    • Teem’d with life and bustle and confusion.
    • In the house was going now and coming
    • Up and down the stairs, and doors were creaking
    • Backwards now, now forwards, — footsteps clatter’d;
    • Yet, as though it were a thing all-living,
    • From my cherish’d hope I could not tear me.
    • When at length the sun, in hated splendor,
    • Fell upon my walls, upon my windows,
    • Up I sprang, and hasten’d to the garden,
    • There to blend my breath, so hot and yearning,
    • With the cool refreshing morning breezes,
    • And, it might be, even there to meet thee:
    • But I cannot find thee in the arbor,
    • Or the avenue of lofty lindens.