Frühe Gedichte -- Gretchen am Spinnrade -- Gretchen at the Spinning Wheel

Gretchen at the Spinning Wheel

My peace is gone,

my heart is heavy,

I’ll find them never

and never again.

Where I do not have him

is for me a grave,

the whole world spins,

gone bitter to taste.

My poorly head

turned upside down,

my poorly mind

torn inside out.

My peace is gone,

my heart is heavy,

I’ll find them never

and never again.

For him alone

I peer out the window,

for him alone

I leave my house.

His lofty gait,

his noble shape,

his smiling mouth

his piercing gaze.

And his speech that flows

like magic, his hands

my touch should know,

and oh, his kiss, his kiss.

My peace is gone,

my heart is heavy,

I’ll find them never

and never again.

My heart so longs

for him, could I

but catch and hold

him aside

and kiss him

as I should wish,

At his kisses

I should die!

Frühe Gedichte -- Prometheus -- Prometheus

  Prometheus

Shroud your heavens, Zeus,

with clouded vapors.

And practice like a boy with the thistle’s head

on oak trees and mountain peaks:

Yet, leave my Earth to stand,

and my little hut, which you did not build,

and my hearth,

whose glow

causes you envy.

I know of nothing more wretched

under the sun than you gods!

You hardly sustain

your own majesty

through victims of sacrifice

and breath of prayer and would starve

were not children and beggars hopeful fools.

When I was a child,

not knowing where else to turn,

I raised my bewildered eyes

to the sun, as if up there

was an ear to hear my pain,

a heart like mine,

to take pity on the oppressed.

Who helped me against the Titan’s arrogance?

Who rescued me from death, from slavery?

Did you not accomplish all yourself?

Holy glowing heart.

And whispered, young and good, cheated,

your thanks to the sleeping one above?

I should honor you?  What for?

Have you lifted pain

from anguished men?

Have you stilled the tears

of frightened souls?

Has not almighty Time

forged me into manhood,

and eternal Fate,

my masters, and yours.

Or do you think that I should hate this life?

Flee to the wastes because not all blooming dreams ripen?

Here I sit, forming good men

in my image.

A people resembling me.

To suffer, to weep,

to savor and delight themselves,

and never to heed you,

as I.

Excuses

All these poems are in my notebook writ,
but circumstance and length hinder chance to edit.

Expect a storm of posts next week.