Читать книгу The Greatest German Classics (Vol. 1-14) - Various - Страница 1385

That accursed here!

It weighs upon me! Lend thine ear;—

To thine experience I must tell,

With thrust on thrust, what wounds my heart;

To bear it is impossible—

Nor can I, without shame, impart:

The old folk there above must yield;

Would that my seat those lindens were;

Those few trees not mine own, that field,

Possession of the world impair.

There I, wide view o'er all to take,

From bough to bough would scaffolds raise;

Would, for the prospect, vistas make

On all that I have done to gaze;

To see at once before me brought

The master-work of human thought,

Where wisdom hath achieved the plan,

And won broad dwelling-place for man.—

Thus are we tortured;—in our weal,

That which we lack, we sorely feel!

The chime, the scent of linden-bloom,

Surround me like a vaulted tomb.

The will that nothing could withstand,

Is broken here upon the sand:

How from the vexing thought be safe?

The bell is pealing, and I chafe!