World?

Well, say you the world is a chamber of sleep, And life but a sleeping and dreaming? Then I too would dream: and would joyously reap The blooms of harmonious seeming; The dream-flow’rs of hope and of freedom, perchance, The rich are so merrily reaping;— In Love’s eyes I’d fancy the joy of romance; No more would I dream Love is weeping.

Or say you the world is a banquet, a ball, Where everyone goes who is able? I too wish to sit like a lord in the hall With savory share at the table. I too can enjoy what is wholesome and good, A morsel both dainty and healthy; I have in my body the same sort of blood That flows in the veins of the wealthy.

A garden you say is the world, where abound The sweetest and loveliest roses? Then would I, no leave asking, saunter around And gather me handfuls of posies. Of thorns I am sure I would make me no wreath; (Of flowers I am very much fonder). And with my beloved the bowers beneath I’d wander, and wander, and wander.

But ah! if the world is a battlefield wild, Where struggle the weak with the stronger, Then heed I no storm and no wife and no child!— I stand in abeyance no longer;— Rush into the fire of the battle nor yield, And fight for my perishing brother; Well, if I am struck—I can die on the field; Die gladly as well as another....

 Despair

No rest—not one day in the seven for me? Not one, from the maddening yoke to be free? Not one to escape from the boss on the prowl, His sinister glance and his furious growl, The cry of the foreman, the smell of the shop,— To feel for one moment the manacles drop? —’Tis rest then you want, and you fain would forget? To rest and oblivion they’ll carry you yet.

The flow’rs and the trees will have withered ere long, The last bird already is ending his song; And soon will be leafless and shadeless the bow’rs... I long, oh I long for the perfume of flow’rs! To feel for a moment ere stripped are the trees, In meadow lands open, the breath of the breeze. —You long for the meadow lands breezy and fair? O, soon enough others will carry you there.

The rivulet sparkles with heavenly light, The wavelets they glisten, with diamonds bedight. Oh, but for a moment to leap in the stream, And play in the waters that ripple and gleam! My body is weakened with terrible toil.— The bath would refresh me, renew me the while. —You dream of a bath in the shimmering stream? ’Twill come—when forever is ended your dream.

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