Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, DREAM, by HEINRICH HEINE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

DREAM, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Son of folly, dream thou ever
Last Line: Vain laments no longer raise!
Subject(s): Dreams; Life; Love; Youth; Nightmares


SON of folly, dream thou ever,
When thy thoughts within thee burn;
But in life thy visions never
To reality will turn.

Once in happier days chance bore me
To a high mount on the Rhine;
Smiling lay the land before me,
Gloriously the sun did shine.

Far below, the waves were singing
Wild and magic melodies;
In my inmost heart were ringing
Blissful strains in wondrous wise.

Now, when gazing from that station
On the land -- how sad its doom!
I but see a pigmy nation
Crawling on a giant's tomb.

So-call'd men wear silken raiment,
Deem themselves the nation's flower;
Honours now are gain'd by payment,
Rogues possess both wealth and power.

Of descent they boast, not merit,
'Tis their dress that makes them men;
Old coats now alone the spirit
Of old times bring back again;

When respect and virtue holy
Modestly went hand in hand;
When the youth with deference lowly
By the aged took his stand;

When a hand-shake was more valid
Than an oath or written sheet;
When men, iron-clad, forth sallied,
And a heart inside them beat.

Our fair garden borders nourish
Many a thousand flow'rets fair;
In the fostering soil they flourish,
While the sun smiles on them there.

But the flower most fair, most golden,
In our gardens ne'er is known, --
That one which, in days now olden,
On each rocky height was grown;

Which, in cold hill-fortress dwelling,
Men endued with iron frame
Deem'd the flower all flowers excelling, --
Hospitality its name.

Weary wanderer, never clamber
To the mountain's fort-crown'd brow;
'Stead of warm and friendly chamber,
Cold, hard walls receive thee now.

From the watch-tower blow no warders
Not a drawbridge is let fall;
For the castle's lord and warders
In the cold tomb slumber all.

In dark coffins, too, are sleeping
Those dear maids bards sang of old;
Shrines like these within them keeping
Greater wealth than pearls and gold.

Strange soft whispers there are blendec
Like sweet minnesinger's lays;
To those dark vaults has descended
The fair love of olden days.

True, I also prize our ladies,
For they blossom like the May;
And delightful, too, their trade is, --
'Tis to dance, stitch, paint all day.

And they sing, in rhymes delicious,
Of old love and loyalty,
Feeling all the time suspicious
Whether such things e'er could be.

In their simple minds, our mothers
Used to think in days of yore,
That the gem above all others
Fair, man in his bosom bore.

Very different from this is
What their daughters wisdom call;
In the present day our misses
Love the jewels most of all.

Lies, deceit, and superstition
Rule, -- life's charms are thrown aside,
Whilst Rome's sordid base ambition
Jordan's pearls has falsified.

To your dark domain return you,
Visions of far happier days;
O'er a time which thus doth spurn you,
Vain laments no longer raise!





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