The Poet asks his Love to write
Visceral love, living death,
in vain, I wait your written word,
and consider, with the flower that withers,
I wish to lose you, if I have to live without self.
The air is undying: the inert rock
neither knows shadow, nor evades it.
And the heart, inside, has no use
for the honeyed frost the moon pours.
But I endured you: ripped open my veins,
a tiger, a dove, over your waist,
in a duel of teeth and lilies.
So fill my madness with speech,
or let me live in my calm
night of the soul, darkened for ever.
— Federico Garcia Lorca
‘Du bist mein und bist so zierlich,’
You’re mine and so dainty,
You’re mine and so mannerly,
Yet still though you lack something:
You kiss now with such pointed lips,
Like a dove, when drinking it sips:
You’re really too dainty a thing.
— Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
O so dear
O so dear from far and near and white all
So deliciously you, Méry, that I dream
Of what impossibly flows, of some rare balm
Over some flower-vase of darkened crystal.
Do you know it, yes! For me, for years, here,
Forever, your dazzling smile prolongs
The one rose with its perfect summer gone
Into times past, yet then on into the future.
My heart that sometimes at night tries to confer,
Or name you most tender with whatever last word
Rejoices in that which whispers none but sister –
Were it not, such short tresses so great a treasure,
That you teach me a sweetness, quite other,
Soft through the kiss murmured only in your hair.
— Stephane Mallarme
Enter the leafing woodland, visit the spring
Or the rocks where the roses bloom
Or search from a look-out, but nowhereLove are you to be seen in the light of day
And down the wind go the words of our once so
Your beloved face has gone beyond my sight,
The music of your life is dying away
Beyond my hearing and all the songs
That worked a miracle of peace once on
My heart, where are they now? It was long ago,
So long and the youth I was has aged nor is
Even the earth that smiled at me then
The same. Farewell. Live with that word always.
For the soul goes from me to return to you
Day after day and my eyes shed tears that they
Cannot look over to where you are
And see you clearly ever again.
— Friedrich Hoelderlin