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A poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe |
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Such, such is he who pleaseth me |
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Title: Such, such is he who pleaseth me Author: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe [More Titles by Goethe] FLY, dearest, fly! He is not nigh! He who found thee one fair morn in Spring In the wood where thou thy flight didst wing. Hark! flutes' sweet strains and love's refrains Reach the loved one, borne there by the wind, In the soft heart open doors they find. Erect his head, and firm his tread, Raven hair around his smooth brow strays, On his cheeks a Spring eternal plays. Happy his breast, with pureness bless'd, And the dark eyes 'neath his eyebrows placed, With full many a beauteous line are graced. His mouth is red--its power I dread, On his lips morn's fragrant incense lies, Round his lips the cooling Zephyr sighs. His blood is true, his heart bold too, In his soft arms, strength, protection, dwells And his face with noble pity swells.
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