Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

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

The Page And The Miller's Daughter - Poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


WHERE goest thou? Where?
Miller's daughter so fair!

Thy name, pray?--


'Tis Lizzy.

Where goest thou? Where?
With the rake in thy hand?

Father's meadows and land

To visit, I'm busy.

Dost go there alone?

By this rake, sir, 'tis shown

That we're making the hay;
And the pears ripen fast
In the garden at last,

So I'll pick them to-day.

Is't a silent thicket I yonder view?

Oh, yes! there are two;
There's one on each side.

I'll follow thee soon;
When the sun burns at noon
We'll go there, o'urselves from his rays to hide,
And then in some glade all-verdant and deep--

Why, people would say--

Within mine arms thou gently wilt sleep.


Your pardon, I pray!
Whoever is kiss'd by the miller-maid,
Upon the spot must needs be betray'd.

'Twould give me distress

To cover with white
Your pretty dark dress.
Equal with equal! then all is right!
That's the motto in which I delight.
I am in love with the miller-boy;
He wears nothing that I could destroy.

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Read poems about / on: daughter, kiss, father, sleep, people, alone, dark, sun

Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004

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