(28 August 1749 – 22 March 1832 / Frankfurt am Main)

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After-Sensations

WHEN the vine again is blowing,

Then the wine moves in the cask;
When the rose again is glowing,

Wherefore should I feel oppress'd?

Down my cheeks run tears all-burning,

If I do, or leave my task;
I but feel a speechless yearning,

That pervades my inmost breast.

But at length I see the reason,

When the question I would ask:
'Twas in such a beauteous season,

Doris glowed to make me blest!

Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004
Edited: Tuesday, April 30, 2013


Read poems about / on: rose, running

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