Ach Liebste, lass uns eilen
Martin Opitz von Boberfeld, 1624
Ach liebste, laß uns eilen, wir haben Zeit
Es schadet das Verweilen uns beider seit
der schönen Schönheit Gaben fliehen Fuß für Fuß
Daß alles, was wir haben, verschwinden muß
Der Wangen Zier verbleichet, das Haar wird greis
Der Äuglein Feuer weichet, die Flamm wird Eis
Das Mündlein von Korallen wird ungestalt
die Händ als Schnee verfallen, und du wirst alt
Drum laß uns jetzt genießen der Jugend Frucht
Eh dann wir folgen müssen der Jahre Flucht
wo du dich selber liebest, so liebe mich
gib mir, daß wenn du gibest verlier auch ich.
I Saw From the Beach
Thomas Moore (1779-1852)
I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining,
A bark o’er the waters move gloriously on,
I came when the sun from that beach was declining,
The bark was still there, but the waters were gone.
And such is the fate sof our life’s early promise
So passing the spring-tide of joy we hve known,;
each wave, that we danced on at morning, ebbs from us,
And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone
Ne’er tell me of glories, serenely adorning
the close of our day, the calm eve of our night;
Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of morning,
Her clouds and her tears are worth evening’s best light.
The Lark in the Clear Air
Sir Samuel Fergusen (1810-1886)
Dear thoughts are in my mind and my soul it soars enchanted
As I hear the sweet lark sing in the clear air of the day
For a tender beaming smile to my hope has been granted
And tomorrow he shall hear all my fond heart longs to say
I will tell him all my love, all my soul’s pure adoration
And I know he will hear my voice and he will not answer me nay
It is this that gives my soul all it’s joyous elation
As I hear the sweet lark sing in the clear air of the day
My Story
Anon., medieval, Ireland
Here’s my story; the stag cries
Winter snarls as summer dies.
The wind bullies the low sun
In poor light; the seas moan
Shapeless bracken is turning red,
The wildgoose raises its desperate head.
Birds’ wings freeze where fields are hoary.
The world is ice. That’s my story.
Die alten bösen Lieder
Heinrich Heine (1797-1856)
Die alten bösen Lieder
Die Träume schlimm und arg,
Die laßt uns jetzt begraben,
Holt einen großen Sarg.
Hinein leg ich gar Manches,
Doch sag ich noch nicht was;
Der Sarg muß sein noch größer
Wies Heidelberger Faß.
Und holt eine Totenbahre,
Von Brettern fest und dick:
Auch muß sie sein noch länger
Als wie zu Mainz die Brück.
Und holt mir auch zwölf Riesen,
Die müssen noch stärker sein
Als wie der heilige Christoph
Im Dom zu Köln am Rhein.
Die sollen den Sarg forttragen
Und senken ins Meer hinab,
Denn solchem großen Sarge
Gebührt ein großes Grab.
Wißt ihr, warum der Sarg wohl
So groß und schwer mag sein?
Ich legt auch meine Liebe
und meinen Schmerz hinein.
The Deserter’s Meditation
John Philpot Curran (1750-1817)
If sadly thinking, with spirits sinking,
Could more than drinking my cares compose
A cure for sorrow from sighs I’d borrow
And hope to-morrow would end my woes.
But as in wailing there’s nought availing,
And Death unfailing will strike the blow,
Then for that reason, and for a season,
Let us be merry before we go.
To joy a stranger, a way-worn ranger,
In every danger my course I’ve run;
Now hope all ending, and death befriending
His last aid lending, my cares are done.
No ore a rover, a hapless lover,
My griefs are over – my glass runs low;
Then for that reason, and for a season,
let us be merry before we go.
A Dream Within a Dream
Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand —
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep — while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?