Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, CUPID AS A LANDSCAPE PAINTER, by JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

CUPID AS A LANDSCAPE PAINTER, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Once I sate upon a mountain
Last Line: No, I trow -- not I!
Subject(s): Cupid; Paintings & Painters; Eros


ONCE I sate upon a mountain,
Gazing on the mist before me;
Like a great grey sheet of canvas,
Shrouding all things in its cover,
Did it float 'twixt earth and heaven.

Then a child appear'd beside me,
Saying, 'Friend, it is not seemly,
Thus to gaze in idle wonder,
With that noble breadth before thee.
Hast thou lost thine inspiration?
Hath the spirit of the painter
Died within thee utterly?'

But I turn'd and look'd upon him,
Speaking not, but thinking inly,
'Will he read a lesson now!'

'Folded hands,' pursued the infant,
'Never yet have won a triumph.
Look! I'll paint for thee a picture
Such as none have seen before.'

And he pointed with his finger,
Which like any rose was ruddy;
And upon the breadth of vapour
With that finger 'gan to draw.

First a glorious sun he painted,
Dazzling when I look'd upon it;
And he made the inner border
Of the clouds around it golden,
With the light rays through the masses
Pouring down in streams of splendour.
Then the tender taper summits
Of the trees, all leaf and glitter,
Started from the sullen void;
And the slopes behind them rising,
Graceful-lined in undulation,
Glided backwards one by one.
Underneath, be sure, was water;
And the stream was drawn so truly,
That it seem'd to break and shimmer,
That it seem'd as if cascading
From the lofty rolling wheel.

There were flowers beside the brooklet;
There were colours on the meadow --
Gold and azure, green and purple,
Emerald and bright carbuncle.
Clear and pure he work'd the ether
As with lapis-lazuli,
And the mountains in the distance
Stretching blue and far away --
All so well, that I, in rapture
At the second revelation,
Turn'd to gaze upon the painter,
From the picture which he drew.

'Have I not,' he said, 'convinced thee
That I know the painter's secret?
Yet the greatest is to come.'

Then he drew with gentle finger,
Still more delicately pointed,
In the wood, about its margin,
Where the sun within the water
Glanced as from the clearest mirror,
Such a maiden's form!
Perfect shape in perfect raiment,
Fair young cheeks 'neath glossy ringlets,
And the cheeks were of the colour
Of the finger whence they came.

'Child,' I cried, 'what wondrous master
In his school of art hath form'd thee,
That so deftly, and so truly,
From the sketch unto the burnish,
Thou hast finish'd such a gem?'

As I spoke, a breeze arising
Stirr'd the tree-tops in the picture,
Ruffled every pool of water,
Waved the garments of the maiden;
And, what more than all amazed me,
Her small feet took motion also,
And she came towards the station
Where I sat beside the boy.

So, when everything was moving,
Leaves and water, flowers and raiment,
And the footsteps of the darling --
Think you I remain'd as lifeless
As the rock on which I rested?
No, I trow -- not I!





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