"From my grave to wander I am forc'd Still to seek The God's long-sever'd link, Still to love the bridegroom I have lost, And the life-blood of his heart to drink; When his race is run, I must hasten on, And the young must 'neath my vengeance sink. "Beauteous youth! no longer mayst thou live; Here must shrivel up thy form so fair; Did not tI to thee a token give. Taking in return this lock of hair? View it to thy sorrow! Grey thou'lt be to-morrow, Only to grow brown again when there." "Mother, to this final prayer give ear! Let a funeral pile be straightway dress'd; Open then my cell so sad and drear, That the flames may give the lovers rest! When ascends the fire From the glowing pyre, To the gods of old we'll hasten, blest."
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - 1749-1832
My senses ofttimes are oppress'd, Oft stagnant is my blood; But when by Christel's sight I'm blest, I feel my strength renew'd. I see her here, I see her there, And really cannot tell The manner how, the when, the where, The why I love her well. If with the merest glance I view Her black and roguish eyes, And gaze on her black eyebrows too, My spirit upward flies. Has any one a mouth so sweet, Such love–round cheeks as she? Ah, when the eye her beauties meet, It ne'er content can be. And when in airy German dance I clasp her form divine, So quick we whirl, so quick advance, What rapture then like mine! And when she's giddy, and feels warm, I cradle her, poor thing, Upon my breast, and in mine arm,— I'm then a very king! And when she looks with love on me, Forgetting all but this, When press'd against my bosom she Exchanges kiss for kiss, All through my marrow runs a thrill, Runs e'en my foot along! I feel so well, I feel so ill, I feel so weak, so strong! Would that such moments ne'er would end! The day ne'er long I find; Could I the night too with her spend, E'en that I should not mind. If she were in mine arms but held, To quench love's thirst I'd try; And could my torments not be quell'd, Upon her breast would die.