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Neue Liebe, neues Leben
Herz, mein Herz, was soll das geben?
Was bedränget dich so sehr?
Welch ein fremdes, neues Leben !
Ich erkenne dich nicht mehr.
Weg ist alles was du liebtest,
Weg, warum du dich betrübtest,
Weg dein Fleiß und deine Ruh –
Ach, wie kamst du nur dazu !
Fesselt dich die Jugendblüte,
Diese liebliche Gestalt,
Dieser Blick voll Treu und Güte
Mit unendlicher Gewalt?
Will ich rasch mich ihr entziehen,
Mich ermannen, ihr entfliehen,
Führet mich im Augenblick,
Ach, mein Weg zu ihr zurück.
Und an diesem Zauberfädchen,
Das sich nicht zerreißen lässt,
Hält das liebe lose Mädchen
Mich so wider Willen fest;
Muss in ihrem Zauberkreise
Leben nun auf ihre Weise.
Die Veränderung, ach, wie groß!
Liebe! Liebe! Laß mich los!
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
(1749-1832)
Neue Liebe, neues Leben
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More in: Archive G-H, Archive G-H, Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, J.W. von Goethe
Lie-a-bed
My darling lies down
in her soft white bed,
And she laughs at me.
Her laughter has flushed
her pale cheeks with red.
Her eyes dance with glee.
My darling lies close
in her warm white bed,
And she will not rise.
I will shower kisses
down on her sleepyhead
Till she close her eyes.
Gioja’s no happier fresh
from the South.
But my kisses free
Will straiten the curves of
this teasing mouth,
If it laughs at me.
Lesbia Harford
(1891-1927)
Lie-a-bed
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive G-H, Archive G-H, Feminism, Harford, Lesbia, Workers of the World
Bluebird
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
Lesbia Harford
(1891-1927)
Bluebird
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More in: Archive G-H, Archive G-H, Feminism, Harford, Lesbia, Workers of the World
My window pane is broken
My window pane is broken
Just a bit
Where the small curtain doesn’t
Cover it.
And in the afternoon
I like to lie
And watch the pepper tree
Against the sky.
Pink berries and blue sky
And leaves and sun
Are very fair to rest
One’s eyes upon.
And my tired feet are resting
On the bed
And there’s a pillow under
My tired head.
Parties and balls and books
I know are best
But when I’ve finished work
I like to rest.
Lesbia Harford
(1891-1927)
My window pane is broken
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More in: Archive G-H, Archive G-H, Feminism, Harford, Lesbia, Workers of the World
Machinist’s Song
The foot of my machine
Sails up and down
Upon the blue of this
fine lady’s gown.
Sail quickly, little boat,
With gifts for me,
Night and the goldy
streets and liberty.
Lesbia Harford
(1891-1927)
Machinist’s Song
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More in: Archive G-H, Archive G-H, Harford, Lesbia, Workers of the World
I was sad
I was sad
Having signed up in a rebel band,
Having signed up to rid the land
Of a plague it had.
For I knew
That I would suffer, I would be lost,
Be bitter and foolish and tempest tost
And a failure too.
I was sad;
Though far in the future our light would shine
For the present the dark was ours, was mine,
I couldn’t be glad.
Lesbia Harford
(1891-1927)
I was sad
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive G-H, Archive G-H, Feminism, Harford, Lesbia, Workers of the World
All Alone
Alas! they have left me all alone
By the receding tide;
But oh! the countless multitudes
Upon the other side!
The loved, the lost, the cherished ones,
Who dwelt with us awhile,
To scatter sunbeams on our path,
And make the desert smile.
The other side! how fair it is!
Its loveliness untold,
Its “every several gate a pearl,”
Its streets are paved with gold.
Its sun shall never more go down,
For there is no night there!
And oh! what heavenly melodies
Are floating through the air!
How sweet to join the ransomed ones
On the other side the flood,
And sing a song of praise to Him
Who washed us in His blood.
Ten thousand times ten thousand
Are hymning the new song!
O Father, join Thy weary child
To that triumphant throng!
But oh! I would be patient,
“My times are in Thy hand,”
“And glory, glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land.”
Eliza Paul Kirkbride Gurney
(1801 – 1888)
All Alone
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More in: # Classic Poetry Archive, Archive G-H, Archive G-H
The child is father to the man
‘The child is father to the man.’
How can he be? The words are wild.
Suck any sense from that who can:
‘The child is father to the man.’
No; what the poet did write ran,
‘The man is father to the child.’
‘The child is father to the man!’
How can he be? The words are wild!
Gerard Manley Hopkins
(1844-1889)
‘The child is father to the man.’
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive G-H, Archive G-H, Hopkins, Gerard Manley
The Evening Star
Hail, pensile gem, that thus can softly gild
The starry coronal of quiet eve!
What frost-work fabrics man shall vainly build
Ere thou art doomed thy heavenly post to leave!
Bright star! thou seem’st to me a blest retreat,
The wearied pilgrim’s paradise of rest;
I love to think long-parted friends shall meet,
Blissful reunion! in thy tranquil breast.
I saw thee shine when life with me was young,
And fresh as fleet-winged time’s infantile hour,
When Hope her treacherous chaplet ’round me flung,
And daily twined a new-created flower.
I saw thee shine while yet the sacred smile
Of home and kindred round my path would play,
But Time, who loves our fairest joys to spoil,
Destined this hour of bloom to swift decay.
The buds, that then were wreathed around my heart,
Now breathe their hallowed sweetness there no more;
‘Twas thine to see them one by one depart,
And yet thou shinest brightly as before.
So, when this bosom, that ‘mid all its woes
Has longed thy little port of rest to win,
In the calm grave shall find at last repose,
Thou’lt beam as fair as though I ne’er had been.
Eliza Paul Kirkbride Gurney
(1801 – 1888)
The Evening Star
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: # Classic Poetry Archive, Archive G-H, Archive G-H
Farewell
Fare thee well, we’ve no wish to detain thee,
For the loved ones are bidding thee come,
And, we know, a bright welcome awaits thee
In the smiles and the sunshine of home,
Thou art safe on the crest of the billow,
And safe in the depths of the sea;
For the God we have worshipped together
Is Almighty, and careth for thee.
And when, in the home of thy fathers,
Thy fervent petition shall rise
For the loved who are circling around thee,
The joy and delight of thine eyes,
Oh, then, for the weak and the faltering,
Should a prayer, as sweet incense, ascend
To the God we have worshipped together,
Remember thy far-distant friend.
We miss the calm light of thy spirit,
We miss thy encouraging smile;
But we bless the unslumbering Shepherd
Who sent thee to cheer us awhile.
The light, which burned brightly among us,
We rejoiced for a season to see,
For the God we have worshipped together
Gave a halo of glory to thee.
But didst thou not point to another,
A brighter, an unsetting sun?
For thou preached not thyself to us, brother,
But Jesus, the Crucified One.
May He be thy rock and thy refuge,
In Him thy “strong confidence” be;
For the God we have worshipped together
Still loveth and careth for thee.
Oh! mayst thou abide ‘neath the shadow
Of Immanuel’s sheltering wing,
And continue proclaiming the goodness
Of Zion’s all-glorious King,
Till the sun shall be turned into darkness,
The moon in obscurity be;
And the God we have worshipped together,
Be a “light everlasting” to thee.
Eliza Paul Kirkbride Gurney
(1801 – 1888)
Farewell
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: # Classic Poetry Archive, Archive G-H, Archive G-H
Cupid Drowned
T’other day as I was twining
Roses, for a crown to dine in,
What, of all things, ‘mid the heap,
Should I light on, fast asleep,
But the little desperate elf,
The tiny traitor, Love, himself!
By the wings I picked him up
Like a bee, and in a cup
Of my wine I plunged and sank him,
Then what d’ye think I did?—I drank him.
Faith, I thought him dead. Not he!
There he lives with tenfold glee;
And now this moment with his wings
I feel him tickling my heart-strings.
James Henry Leigh Hunt
(1784 – 1859)
Cupid Drowned
From: Poems That Every Child Should Know
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More in: # Classic Poetry Archive, Archive G-H, Archive G-H, Hunt, Leigh
Ein Traum
Wir liegen in einem tiefem See
Und wissen nichts von Leid und Weh.
Wir halten uns umfangen
Und Wasserrosen rings um uns her.
Wir streben und wünschen und wollen nichts mehr.
Wir haben kein Verlangen.
Geliebter, etwas fehlt mir doch,
Einen Wunsch, den hab ich noch:
Die Sehnsucht nach der Sehnsucht.
Emmy Hennings
(1885 – 1948)
Ein Traum
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive G-H, Archive G-H, Emmy Hennings, Hennings, Emmy, Performing arts
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