Читать книгу The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 06 - Коллектив авторов, Ю. Д. Земенков, Koostaja: Ajakiri New Scientist - Страница 4

  Oh, fair cradle of my sorrow,

    Oh, fair tomb of peace for me,

  Oh, fair town, my last good-morrow,

    Last farewell I say to thee!

  Fare thee well, thou threshold holy,

    Where my lady's footsteps stir,

  And that spot, still worshipped lowly,

    Where mine eyes first looked on her!

  Had I but beheld thee never,

    Thee, my bosom's beauteous queen,

  Wretched now, and wretched ever,

    Oh, I should not thus have been!

  Touch thy heart?—I would not dare that:

    Ne'er did I thy love implore;

  Might I only breathe the air that

    Thou didst breathe, I asked no more.

  Yet I could not brook thy spurning,

    Nor thy cruel words of scorn;

  Madness in my brain is burning,

    And my heart is sick and torn.

  So I go, downcast and dreary,

    With my pilgrim staff to stray,

  Till I lay my head aweary

    In some cool grave far away.

  Cliff and castle quiver grayly

    From the mirror of the Rhine

  Where my little boat swims gaily;

    Round her prow the ripples shine.

  Heart at ease I watch them thronging—

    Waves of gold with crisping crest,

  Till awakes a half-lulled longing

    Cherished deep within my breast.

  Temptingly the ripples greet me

    Luring toward the gulf beneath,

  Yet I know that should they meet me

    They would drag me to my death.

  Lovely visage, treacherous bosom,

    Guile beneath and smile above,

  Stream, thy dimpling wavelet's blossom

    Laughs as falsely as my love.

  I despaired at first—believing

    I should never bear it. Now

  I have borne it—I have borne it.

    Only never ask me How.