Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE IDEAL by JOHANN CHRISTOPH FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER

First Line: THOU, AND WILT THOU FOR EVER LEAVE ME
Last Line: ART STRIKING WEEKS, MONTHS, YEARS, AWAY.
THOU, and wilt thou for ever leave me
With thy bright smiles, with thy sweet sighs,
And didst thou come but to deceive me,
With all thy tender phantasies?
Can naught detain, naught overcome thee,
O golden season of life's glee?
In vain! Thy waves are sweeping from me
Into eternity's dark sea.

The sun-smiles, the fresh blooms have perish'd,
That bright around my morntide shone,
And all within this heart most cherish'd,
Life's sweet Ideal -- all is gone.
The fairy visions, the gay creatures,
To which my trusting soul gave birth,
Stern reason dims their angel-features,
And heaven is lost in clouds of earth.

As erst, with fiercest, tenderest anguish
Pygmalion clasp'd the senseless stone,
And taught the death-cold breast to languish
With blood, pulse, transports, as his own;
Thus I, around my heart's dear treasure,
Round nature, twined my wooing arms,
Till, giving back the throb of pleasure,
She glow'd, -- alive in all her charms.

Then, then with mutual instinct burning,
The dumb caught raptures from my tongue,
And, kiss with sweetest kiss returning,
Responsive to her minstrel rung:
With falls more musical the fountain,
With brighter hues, tree, flower were rife,
The soulless breath'd from lake and mountain,
And all was echo of my life.

My bark, with wider sails unmooring
Stretch'd boldly forth o'er depths unknown,
With eager prow life's coasts exploring,
Her realms of thought, sight, feeling, tone.
How vast the world then, how elysian
Its prospects, in dim distance seen!
How faded now, -- on nearer vision
How smail, -- and oh! that small, how mean!

With soul, by worlding care unblighted,
With brow, unblench'd by fear or shame,
How sprang -- on wings of hope delighted --
Young manhood to the lists of fame!
Far, far beyond earth's cold dominions,
High, high as light's exultant sphere,
No realms too distant for his pinions,
No worlds too bright for his career.

How swift the car of rapture bore him,
(No toils seem'd hard, no wishes vain.)
How light, how gladsome, danced before him
Imagination's sparkling train!
High Truth, in sun-bright morion glancing,
Young Glory, with his laurell'd sword,
Fortune, on golden wheels advancing,
And true Love, with its sweet reward.

But ah! as ocean's breast, unsteady,
These visions fade, these joys decay,
And, faithless, from my path already,
Friend after friend, they've dropp'd away.
False Fortune hails some happier master,
The thirst of Lore survives my youth,
But doubt's chill clouds are gathering faster
Around the sunny form of Truth.

I saw the holy crown of Glory
Polluted on the vulgar brow;
And Love -- ah, why so transitory?
E'en Love's sweet flowers are withering now;
And dimmer all around, and dimmer,
Fades on the sense life's west'ring ray,
Till Hope herself scarce leaves a glimmer
To light the pilgrim on his way.

Of all, -- the crowd, -- that once were near me,
To court, soothe, flatter, shout, carouse,
Who now is left? Who comes to cheer me,
Or follow to my last dark house?
Thou, Friendship! gentlest nurse, that bearest
Balm for all wounds, all woes around,
Who, patient, every burden sharest --
Mine earliest sought and latest found.

And thou, with Friendship still uniting,
Exorcist of the stormy soul,
Employment, @3all@1 its powers exciting,
Though weakening @3none@1, by thy control!
Who, grain on grain, with fond endeavour,
Add'st to eternity's vast day,
Yet from Time's debt, unwearied ever,
Art striking weeks, months, years, away.



Home: PoetryExplorer.net