Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Poems

THE LADY.

IN the small and great world too,
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WHY pacest thou, my neighbour fair,

The garden all alone?
If house and land thou seek'st to guard,
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WEEP, maiden, weep here o'er the tomb of Love;

He died of nothing--by mere chance was slain.
But is he really dead?--oh, that I cannot prove:
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A PLAN the Muses entertain'd

Methodically to impart
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LOVE for love, and moments sweet,

Lips returning kiss for kiss,
Word for word, and eyes that meet;
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I.

A MASTER of a country school
Jump'd up one day from off his stool,
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HERE where the roses blossom, where vines round the laurels are twining,
Where the turtle-dove calls, where the blithe cricket is heard,
Say, whose grave can this be, with life by all the Immortals
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THE mason's trade Observe them well,

Resembles life, And watch them revealing
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To break one's word is pleasure-fraught,

To do one's duty gives a smart;
While man, alas! will promise nought,
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