Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/56

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POEMS OF GOETHE

MISCHIEVOUS JOY.

As a butterfly renewed,
When in life I breathed my last,
To the spots my flight I wing,
Scenes of heavenly rapture past,
Over meadows to the spring,
Round the hill, and through the wood.

Soon a tender pair I spy,
And I look down from my seat
On the beauteous maiden's head—
When embodied there I meet
All I lost as soon as dead,
Happy as before am I.

Him she clasps with silent smile,
And his mouth the hour improves,
Sent by kindly deities;
First from breast to mouth it roves,
Then from mouth to hands it flies,
And I round him sport the while.

And she sees me hov'ring near;
Trembling at her lover's rapture,
Up she springs—I fly away.
"Dearest! let's the insect capture!
Come! I long to make my prey
Yonder pretty little dear!"


NOVEMBER SONG.

To the great archer—not to him
To meet whom flies the sun,
And who is wont his features dim

With clouds to overrun—