Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Poems

To the great archer--not to him

To meet whom flies the sun,
And who is wont his features dim
...

'TIS easier far a wreath to bind,
Than a good owner fort to find.
-----
I KILL'D a thousand flies overnight,
...

IN His blest name, who was His own creation,
Who from all time makes making his vocation;
The name of Him who makes our faith so bright,
Love, confidence, activity, and might;
...

To the grave one day from a house they bore

A maiden;
To the window the citizens went to explore;
...

FITTING perfumes to prepare,

And to raise thy rapture high,
Must a thousand rosebuds fair
...

My grief no mortals know,
Except the yearning!
Alone, a prey to woe,
...

MY mistress, where sits she?

What is it that charms?
The absent she's rocking,
...

THE happiness that man, whilst prison'd here,

Is wont with heavenly rapture to compare,--
The harmony of Truth, from wavering clear,--
...

LIKE the vulture
Who on heavy morning clouds
With gentle wing reposing
Looks for his prey,--
...