Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, FOR THE 'MOUCHE', by HEINRICH HEINE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

FOR THE 'MOUCHE', by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: I had a dream. It was a summer's night
Last Line: And I awoke at last in desperation.
Subject(s): Dreams; Magic; Mythology; Religion; Statues; Nightmares; Theology


I HAD a dream. It was a summer's night,
And in the moonlight, pale and weatherbeaten,
Lay buildings, relics of past ages bright, --
The style, renaissant, of these wrecks time-eaten.

And here and there, with stately Doric head,
Rose single columns from the mass there lying,
And on the firmament high o'er them spread
Gazed they, as if its thunderbolts defying.

In broken fragments lay there on the ground,
Mingled with many a portal, many a gable,
Sculptures where man, beast, centaur, sphinx were found,
Chimera, satyr, -- creatures of old fable.

The contrasts there presented were grotesque,
The emblems of Judaea's God combining
With Grecian grace, in fashion arabesque
The ivy round them both, its tendrils twining.

A fair sarcophagus of marble white
Amid the ruins stood, unmutilated;
And in the coffin lay a corpse in sight,
Of features mild, with sadness penetrated.

The power supporting it appear'd supplied
By Caryatides, with necks extended;
And many a bas-relief on either side
Was seen, of chisell'd figures strangely blended.

The glories of Olympus there saw I,
With all its heathen deities misguided;
Adam and Eve were there, decorously
With figleaf aprons round their loins provided.

Troy's taking and Troy's burning here were seen,
Hector and Helen, Paris (that wild gay man);
Moses and Aaron also stood between,
With Esther, Judith, Holofernes, Haman.

God Amor also had his place hard by,
Phoebus, Apollo, Vulcan, Madam Venus,
Pluto, Proserpina, and Mercury,
God Bacchus, and Priapus, and Silenus.

Likewise was Balaam's ass omitted not. --
(The ass for speaking seem'd, in fact, created),
And Abraham's temptation too, and Lot,
Who by his daughters was intoxicated.

Herodias' daughter's dance was shown as well,
The Baptist's head was in the charger given;
The monster Satan too was there, and hell,
And Peter, with the heavy keys of heaven.

And next in order saw I sculptured there
The loves of Jove, with his vile actions blending;
How as a swan he ravish'd Leda fair,
And Danae, in golden shower descending.

The wild hunt of Diana was display'd,
With her fleet dogs, and nymphs attired so trimly;
And Hercules, in woman's clothes array'd,
Distaff on arm, the spindle whirling nimbly.

And next was Sinai's mountain to be view'd,
And Israel near it, with his oxen lowing;
The Lord a child within the temple stood,
Disputing with the doctors proud and knowing.

But, strange to tell, when I had dreamily
These forms a while observed, in thought suspended,
I suddenly conceived myself to be
The corpse, in that fair marble tomb extended.

And at the head of this my grave there stood
A flower full fair, of strange configuration;
Its leaves were yellow-tinged and violet-hued,
The flower possess'd a wondrous fascination.

'Tis by the name of passion-flower well known,
On Golgotha, they say, 'twas first created
The day they crucified God's only Son,
And the Redeemer's body lacerated.

Bloodwitness doth this flower now bear, they say;
Each instrument of torture then invented
And used at His sad martyrdom that day,
Is in its calyx duly represented.

Yes! every passion-attribute adorns
The flower, each emblem of their cruel malice, --
For instance, scourge and rope and crown of thorns,
The hammer and the nails, the cross, the chalice

Such was the flower which at my grave did stand,
And o'er my body bending with compassion,
As with a woman's sorrow, kiss'd my hand,
My eyes, and forehead, in sad silent fashion.

But O, my dream's strange magic! Wondrously
The passion-flower, the yellow-hued and rare one,
Changed to a woman's likeness, -- ah! and she,
She was my loved one, she was mine own fair one!

Thou wert the flower, yes, thou, my darling child!
At once I knew thee by thy kisses yearning;
No lips of flowers so tender are and mild,
No tears of flowers so fiery are and burning.

Although mine eyes were closed, my spirit gazed
With steadiness upon thy face entrancing;
Thou look'dst at me with raptured look amazed,
Strangely illumined in the moonlight glancing.

No words we spake, and yet my heart could see
The thoughts that in thy mind in silence hover'd;
A word when spoken has no modesty,
By silence is love's modest blossoms cover'd.

Voiceless our converse! Wondrous doth it seem
How in our silent, tender conversation
The time pass'd in that summer night's fair dream,
When joy commingled was with consternation.

That which we spoke of then, ne'er seek to learn,
The glow-worm ask, why in the grass it gloweth,
The torrent, why it roareth in the burn,
The west wind, why it waileth as it bloweth.

Ask the carbuncle why it gleams so bright,
The rose and violet, why so sweetly scented;
But ask not what, beneath the moon's soft light,
The martyr-flower talk'd with her love lamented!

I cannot tell how long it was that I
Enjoy'd, as in the marble tomb I slumber'd,
That beauteous, happy dream. It fleeted by,
Too soon the moments of my rest were number'd.

Death with thy gravelike silence! Thou alone
Canst give us pleasure in a lasting fashion;
Vain barbarous life, for joy is ever known
To give us restless bliss, convulsive passion.

Alas, alas! my happiness soon fled,
For suddenly arose a noise exciting,
It was a savage conflict, fierce and dread --
Ah, my poor flower was scared by all this fighting!

Yes! there arose outside, with hideous yell,
A quarrelling, a yelping, and a scolding;
Methought that many a voice I knew full well, --
It was the bas-reliefs my tomb enfolding!

Is the stone haunted by those visions wan?
And are those marble phantoms all disputing?
The fearful clamour of the wood-god Pan,
Moses's fierce anathemas confuting.

Alas! this contest ne'er will ended be,
The True and Beautiful will wrangle ever!
Greeks and Barbarians in wild rivalry
The ranks of man are always doom'd to sever.

They cursed and raved. No end would there have been
To this long squabble, and their passion towering,
Had Balaam's ass not come upon the scene,
The voices of the gods and saints o'erpowering.

The stupid beast, with his disgusting brag,
That sobbing sound of sheer abomination,
Made me cry out in terrible dismay,
And I awoke at last in desperation.




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