Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

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

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Poems

241. Book Of Suleika - In Thousand Form 1/1/2004
242. It Is Good 1/1/2004
243. Effects At A Distance 1/1/2004
244. Fortune Of War 1/1/2004
245. New Love, New Life 4/5/2010
246. Lily's Menagerie 1/1/2004
247. Presence 1/1/2004
248. May Song Ii 1/1/2004
249. The Beauteous Flower - Son Of The Imprisioned Count 1/1/2004
250. Christel 1/1/2004
251. The Bliss Of Absence 1/1/2004
252. Old Age 1/1/2004
253. Winter Journey Over The Hartz Mountain 1/1/2004
254. For Ever 1/1/2004
255. Sakontala 1/1/2004
256. Reciprocal 1/1/2004
257. From 4/5/2010
258. Book Of Timur - To Suleika 1/1/2004
259. Burial 1/1/2004
260. Procemion 1/1/2004
261. Proverbs 1/1/2004
262. November Song 1/1/2004
263. River Lilies 4/5/2010
264. Finnish Song 1/1/2004
265. Explanation Of An Ancient Woodcut 1/1/2004
266. Book Of Gloom 4/3/2010
267. Book Of Timur - The Winter And Timur 1/1/2004
268. The Critic 1/1/2004
269. The Beautiful Night 1/1/2004
270. Book Of Contemplation - Suleika 1/1/2004
271. The Eagle And The Dove 1/1/2004
272. Premature Spring 1/1/2004
273. May Song 1/1/2004
274. Ginkgo Biloba 4/5/2010
275. Epitaph 1/1/2004
276. On The Divan 1/1/2004
277. The Bride Of Corinth 1/1/2004
278. Conflict Of Wit And Beauty 4/3/2010
279. From Faust - Iii. Chorus Of Angels 4/5/2010
280. Flower-Salute 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

The Erl-King

1.
WHO rides there so late through the night dark and drear?
The father it is, with his infant so dear;
He holdeth the boy tightly clasp'd in his arm,
He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm.

"My son, wherefore seek'st thou thy face thus to hide?"
"Look, father, the Erl-King is close by our side!
Dost see not the Erl-King, with crown and with train?"
"My son, 'tis the mist rising over the plain."

"Oh, come, thou dear infant! oh come thou with me!
Full many a game I will play there with thee;
On my strand, lovely flowers their blossoms unfold,
My ...

Read the full of The Erl-King

To Belinda

WHEREFORE drag me to yon glittering eddy,

With resistless might?
Was I, then, not truly blest already

In the silent night?

In my secret chamber refuge taking,

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