Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE HEATH, by THEODOR STORM



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE HEATH, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: It is so quiet here
Last Line: Have not yet reached this loneliness.


It is so quiet here. There lies
The heath in noon's warm sunshine gold.
A gleam of light, all rosy, flies
And hovers round the tombstones old.
The herbs are blooming; fragrance fair
Now fills the bluish summer air.

The beetles rush through bush and trees,
In little golden coats of mail;
And on the heather-bells the bees
Alight, on all the branches frail.
From out the grass there starts a throng
Of larks and fills the air with song.

A lonely house, half-crumbled, low:
The farmer, in the doorway bent,
Stands watching in the sunlight's glow
The busy bees in sweet content.
And on a stone near by his boy
Is carving pipes from reeds with joy.

Searce trembling through the peace of noon,
The town-clock strikes--from far, it seems.
The old man's lids are drooping soon,
And of his honey crops he dreams.--
The sounds that fill our time of stress
Have not yet reached this loneliness.





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