Friedrich Schiller

(10 November 1759 – 9 May 1805 / Marbach, Württemberg)

Friedrich Schiller Poems

121. The Pilgrim 1/1/2004
122. The Playing Infant 1/1/2004
123. The Poetry Of Life 1/1/2004
124. The Power Of Song 1/1/2004
125. The Power Of Woman 1/1/2004
126. The Present Generation 1/1/2004
127. The Proverbs Of Confucius 1/1/2004
128. The Ring Of Polycrates - A Ballad 1/1/2004
129. The Secret 1/1/2004
130. The Sexes 1/1/2004
131. The Sower 1/1/2004
132. The Triumph Of Love 1/1/2004
133. The Two Guides Of Life - The Sublime And The Beautiful 1/1/2004
134. The Two Paths Of Virtue 1/1/2004
135. The Veiled Statue At Sais 1/1/2004
136. The Virtue Of Woman 1/1/2004
137. The Walk 1/1/2004
138. The Words Of Belief 1/1/2004
139. The Words Of Error 1/1/2004
140. The Youth By The Brook 1/1/2004
141. Thekla - A Spirit Voice 1/1/2004
142. To A Moralist 1/1/2004
143. To A World-Reformer 1/1/2004
144. To Astronomers 1/1/2004
145. To Emma 1/1/2004
146. To Laura (Mystery Of Reminiscence) 1/1/2004
147. To Laura At The Harpsichord 1/1/2004
148. To Minna 1/1/2004
149. To My Friends 1/1/2004
150. To Mystics 1/1/2004
151. To Proselytizers 1/1/2004
152. To The Muse 1/1/2004
153. To The Spring 1/1/2004
154. Two Descriptions Of Action 1/1/2004
155. Untitled 01 4/7/2010
156. Untitled 02 1/1/2004
157. Untitled 03 1/1/2004
158. Variety 1/1/2004
159. Votive Tablets 4/7/2010
160. Votive Tablets 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Friedrich Schiller

The Dance

See how, like lightest waves at play, the airy dancers fleet;
And scarcely feels the floor the wings of those harmonious feet.
Ob, are they flying shadows from their native forms set free?
Or phantoms in the fairy ring that summer moonbeams see?
As, by the gentle zephyr blown, some light mist flees in air,
As skiffs that skim adown the tide, when silver waves are fair,
So sports the docile footstep to the heave of that sweet measure,
As music wafts the form aloft at its melodious pleasure,
Now breaking through the woven chain of the entangled dance,
From where the ...

Read the full of The Dance

Longing

Could I from this valley drear,
Where the mist hangs heavily,
Soar to some more blissful sphere,
Ah! how happy should I be!
Distant hills enchant my sight,
Ever young and ever fair;
To those hills I'd take my flight
Had I wings to scale the air.

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