Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE WHIMS OF THE AMOROUS; A TRUE STORY, REPATED AFTER OLD DOCUMENTS, by HEINRICH HEINE



Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE WHIMS OF THE AMOROUS; A TRUE STORY, REPATED AFTER OLD DOCUMENTS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Upon the hedge the beetle sits sadly
Last Line: Poor bride has long been dead and rotten.
Subject(s): Insects; Love; Marriage; Bugs; Weddings; Husbands; Wives


UPON the hedge the beetle sits sadly,
He has fallen in love with a lady-fly madly.

O fly of my soul, 'tis thou alone
Art the wife I have chosen to be my own.

O marry me, and be not cold,
For I have a belly of glistening gold.

My back is a mass of glory and show,
There rubies glitter, there emeralds glow --

O would that I were a fool just now!
I'd never marry a beetle, I vow.

I care not for emeralds, rubies, or gold,
I know that no happiness riches enfold.

'Tis tow'rd the ideal my thought soars high,
For I am in truth a haughty fly. --

The beetle flew off, with a heart like to break,
The fly went away, a bath to take.

O what has become of my maid, the bee,
That she when I'm washing may wait on me,

That she may stroke my soft hair outside,
For I am now a beetle's bride.

In truth, a splendid party I'll give,
For handsomer beetle never did live.

His back is a mass of glory and show,
There rubies glitter, there emeralds glow.

His belly is golden, and noble each feature;
With envy will burst full many a creature.

Make haste, Miss Bee, and dress my hair,
And lace my waist, use perfumes rare.

With otto of roses rub me o'er,
And lavender oil on my feet then pour,

That I mayn't stink or nastily smell,
When I in my bridegroom's arms shall dwell

Already are flitting the dragonflies blue,
As maids of honour to wait on me too.

Into my bridal garland they'll twine
The blossoms white of the orange so fine.

Full many musicians are asked to the place,
And singers as well, of the grasshopper race.

The bittern, drone, hornet, and gadfly all come,
To blow on the trumpet, and beat the drum.

They're all to strike up for the glad wedding feast --
The gay-winged guests, from greatest to least,

Are coming in families dapper and brisk,
The commoner insects amongst them frisk.

The grasshoppers, wasps, and the aunts, and the cousins
Are coming, whilst trumpets are blowing by dozens.

The pastor, the mole, in black dignified state,
Has also arrived, and the hour grows late.

The bells are all sounding ding-dong, ding-a-dong --
But where's my dear bridegroom ling'ring so long?

Ding dong, ding-a-dong, sound the bells all the day,
The bridegroom however has flown far away.

The bells are all sounding ding-dong, ding-a-dong --
But where's my dear bridegroom ling'ring so long?

The bridegroom has meanwhile taken his seat
On a distant dunghill, enjoying the heat.

Seven years there sits he, until his forgotten
Poor bride has long been dead and rotten.





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