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One of the ancients,once said that poetry is "the mirror of the perfect soul." Instead of simply writing down travel notes or, not really thinking about the consequences, expressing your thoughts, memories or on paper, the poetic soul needs to seriously work hard to clothe the perfect content in an even more perfect poetic form.
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What is poetry?


Reading books RomanceThe unity of form and content is what distinguishes poetry from other areas of creativity. However, this is precisely what titanic work implies.
Not every citizen can become a poet. If almost every one of us, at different times, under the influence of certain reasons or trends, was engaged in writing his thoughts, then it is unlikely that the vast majority will be able to admit to themselves that they are a poet.
Genre of poetry touches such strings in the human soul, the existence of which a person either didn’t suspect, or lowered them to the very bottom, intending to give them delight.


There are poets whose work, without exaggeration, belongs to the treasures of human thought and rightly is a world heritage. In our electronic library you will find a wide variety of poetry.
Opening a new collection of poems, the reader thus discovers a new world, a new thought, a new form. Rereading the classics, a person receives a magnificent aesthetic pleasure, which doesn’t disappear with the slamming of the book, but accompanies him for a very long time like a Muse. And it isn’t at all necessary to be a poet in order for the Muse to visit you. It is enough to pick up a volume, inside of which is Poetry. Be with us on our website.

Read books online » Poetry » The Poems of Goethe by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (ebook reader with highlight function txt) 📖

Book online «The Poems of Goethe by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (ebook reader with highlight function txt) 📖». Author Johann Wolfgang von Goethe



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place chanc'd to dwell, Talkative, clever, and learned as well; The boy his society used to prize, Hearing with pleasure his wonders and lies.

"My friend the fox my pigeon must see He ran, and stretch'd 'mongst the bushes lay he "Look, fox, at my pigeon, my pigeon so fair! His equal I'm sure thou hast look'd upon ne'er!"

"Let's see!"--The boy gave it.--"'Tis really not bad; And yet, it is far from complete, I must add. The feathers, for, instance, how short! 'Tis absurd!" So he set to work straightway to pluck the poor bird.

The boy screamed.--"Thou must now stronger pinions supply, Or else 'twill be ugly, unable to fly."-- Soon 'twas stripp'd--oh, the villain!--and torn all to pieces. The boy was heart-broken,--and so my tale ceases.

* * * *

He who sees in the boy shadow'd forth his own case, Should be on his guard 'gainst the fox's whole race.

1776.* -----

THE WRANGLER.

ONE day a shameless and impudent wight Went into a shop full of steel wares bright, Arranged with art upon ev'ry shelf. He fancied they were all meant for himself; And so, while the patient owner stood by, The shining goods needs must handle and try, And valued,--for how should a fool better know?-- The bad things high, and the good ones low, And all with an easy self-satisfied face; Then, having bought nothing, he left the place.

The tradesman now felt sorely vex'd, So when the fellow went there next, A lock of steel made quite red hot. The other cried upon the spot: "Such wares as these, who'd ever buy? the steel is tarnish'd shamefully,"-- Then pull'd it, like a fool about, But soon set up a piteous shout. "Pray what's the matter?" the shopman spoke; The other scream'd: "Faith, a very cool joke!"

1815.* -----

THE YELPERS.

OUR rides in all directions bend,

For business or for pleasure, Yet yelpings on our steps attend,

And barkings without measure. The dog that in our stable dwells,

After our heels is striding, And all the while his noisy yells

But show that we are riding.

1815.* -----

THE STORK'S VOCATION.

THE stork who worms and frogs devours

That in our ponds reside, Why should he dwell on high church-towers,

With which he's not allied?

Incessantly he chatters there,

And gives our ears no rest; But neither old nor young can dare

To drive him from his nest.

I humbly ask it,--how can he

Give of his title proof, Save by his happy tendency

To soil the church's roof?

CELEBRITY.

[A satire on his own Sorrows of Werther.]

ON bridges small and bridges great Stands Nepomucks in ev'ry state, Of bronze, wood, painted, or of stone, Some small as dolls, some giants grown; Each passer must worship before Nepomuck, Who to die on a bridge chanced to have the ill luck, When once a man with head and ears A saint in people's eyes appears, Or has been sentenced piteously Beneath the hangman's hand to die, He's as a noted person prized, In portrait is immortalized. Engravings, woodcuts, are supplied, And through the world spread far and wide. Upon them all is seen his name, And ev'ry one admits his claim; Even the image of the Lord Is not with greater zeal ador'd. Strange fancy of the human race! Half sinner frail, half child of grace We see HERR WERTHER of the story In all the pomp of woodcut glory. His worth is first made duly known, By having his sad features shown At ev'ry fair the country round; In ev'ry alehouse too they're found. His stick is pointed by each dunce "The ball would reach his brain at once!" And each says, o'er his beer and bread: "Thank Heav'n that 'tis not we are dead!"

1815.* -----

PLAYING AT PRIESTS.

WITHIN a town where parity According to old form we see,-- That is to say, where Catholic And Protestant no quarrels pick, And where, as in his father's day, Each worships God in his own way, We Luth'ran children used to dwell, By songs and sermons taught as well. The Catholic clingclang in truth Sounded more pleasing to our youth, For all that we encounter'd there, To us seem'd varied, joyous, fair. As children, monkeys, and mankind To ape each other are inclin'd, We soon, the time to while away, A game at priests resolved to play. Their aprons all our sisters lent For copes, which gave us great content; And handkerchiefs, embroider'd o'er, Instead of stoles we also wore; Gold paper, whereon beasts were traced, The bishop's brow as mitre graced.

Through house and garden thus in state We strutted early, strutted late, Repeating with all proper unction, Incessantly each holy function. The best was wanting to the game;

We knew that a sonorous ring

Was here a most important thing; But Fortune to our rescue came, For on the ground a halter lay;

We were delighted, and at once

Made it a bellrope for the nonce, And kept it moving all the day;

In turns each sister and each brother

Acted as sexton to another; All help'd to swell the joyous throng;

The whole proceeded swimmingly,

And since no actual bell had we, We all in chorus sang, Ding dong!

* * * * *

Our guileless child's-sport long was hush'd

In memory's tomb, like some old lay; And yet across my mind it rush'd

With pristine force the other day. The New-Poetic Catholics In ev'ry point its aptness fix!

1815.* -----

SONGS.

SONGS are like painted window-panes! In darkness wrapp'd the church remains, If from the market-place we view it; Thus sees the ignoramus through it. No wonder that he deems it tame,-- And all his life 'twill be the same.

But let us now inside repair, And greet the holy Chapel there! At once the whole seems clear and bright, Each ornament is bathed in light, And fraught with meaning to the sight. God's children! thus your fortune prize, Be edified, and feast your eyes!

1827.* -----

POETRY.

GOD to his untaught children sent

Law, order, knowledge, art, from high, And ev'ry heav'nly favour lent,

The world's hard lot to qualify. They knew not how they should behave,

For all from Heav'n stark-naked came; But Poetry their garments gave,

And then not one had cause for shame.

1816. -----

A PARABLE.

I PICKED a rustic nosegay lately, And bore it homewards, musing greatly; When, heated by my hand, I found The heads all drooping tow'rd the ground. I plac'd them in a well-cool'd glass, And what a wonder came to pass The heads soon raised themselves once more. The stalks were blooming as before, And all were in as good a case As when they left their native place.

* * * *

So felt I, when I wond'ring heard My song to foreign tongues transferr'd.

1828. -----

SHOULD E'ER THE LOVELESS DAY.

SHOULD e'er the loveless day remain Obscured by storms of hail and rain,

Thy charms thou showest never; I tap at window, tap at door: Come, lov'd one, come! appear once more!

Thou art as fair as ever!

1827.* -----

A PLAN THE MUSES ENTERTAINED.

A PLAN the Muses entertain'd

Methodically to impart

To Psyche the poetic art; Prosaic-pure her soul remain'd. No wondrous sounds escaped her lyre

E'en in the fairest Summer night; But Amor came with glance of fire,--

The lesson soon was learn'd aright.

1827.* -----

THE DEATH OF THE FLY.

WITH eagerness he drinks the treach'rous potion,

Nor stops to rest, by the first taste misled; Sweet is the draught, but soon all power of motion

He finds has from his tender members fled; No longer has he strength to plume his wing, No longer strength to raise his head, poor thing! E'en in enjoyment's hour his life he loses, His little foot to bear his weight refuses; So on he sips, and ere his draught is o'er, Death veils his thousand eyes for evermore.

1810. -----

BY THE RIVER.

WHEN by the broad stream thou dost dwell,

Oft shallow is its sluggish flood; Then, when thy fields thou tendest well,

It o'er them spreads its slime and mud.

The ships descend ere daylight wanes,

The prudent fisher upward goes; Round reef and rock ice casts its chains,

And boys at will the pathway close.

To this attend, then, carefully,

And what thou wouldst, that execute! Ne'er linger, ne'er o'erhasty be,

For time moves on with measured foot.

1821.* -----

THE FOX AND CRANE.

ONCE two persons uninvited

Came to join my dinner table; For the nonce they lived united,

Fox and crane yclept in fable.

Civil greetings pass'd between us

Then I pluck'd some pigeons tender For the fox of jackal-genius,

Adding grapes in full-grown splendour.

Long-neck'd flasks I put as dishes

For the crane, without delaying, Fill'd with gold and silver fishes,

In the limpid water playing.

Had ye witness'd Reynard planted

At his flat plate, all demurely, Ye with envy must have granted:

"Ne'er was such a gourmand, surely!"

While the bird with circumspection

On one foot, as usual, cradled, From the flasks his fish-refection

With his bill and long neck ladled.

One the pigeons praised,--the other,

As they went, extoll'd the fishes, Each one scoffing at his brother

For preferring vulgar dishes.

* * *

If thou wouldst preserve thy credit,

When thou askest folks to

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