Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (28 August 1749 – 22 March 1832 / Frankfurt am Main)
I PICKED a rustic nosegay lately,
And bore it homewards, musing greatly;
When, heated by my hand, I found
The heads all drooping tow'rd the ground.
I plac'd them in a well-cool'd glass,
And what a wonder came to pass
The heads soon raised themselves once more.
The stalks were blooming as before,
And all were in as good a case
As when they left their native place.
So felt I, when I wond'ring heard
My song to foreign tongues transferr'd.
Read poems about / on: song
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