English

Though thou'rt like Judas — an apostate black,
In the resemblance one thing thou dost lack:
When he had gotten his ill-purchased pelf,
He went away and wisely hanged himself.
This thou may do at last — yet much I doubt,
If thou hast any bowels to gush out!

Love is the passion which endureth,
Which neither time nor absence cureth;
Which nought of earthly change can sever:
Love is the light which shines for ever.

What cold and selfish breasts deem madness
Lives in its depths of joy and sadness;
In hearts, on lips, of flame it burneth —
One is its world, to one it turneth.

Its chain of gold — what hand can break it?
Its deathless hold — what force can shake it?
Mere passion aught of earth may sever,
But souls that love, love on for ever.

" Quhare haif ye been, ye ill womyne,
These three lang nightis fra hame?
Quhat garris the sweit drap fra yer brow,
Like clotis of the saut sea faem?

It fearis me muckil ye haif seen
Quhat good man never knew;
It fearis me muckil ye haif been
Quhare the grey cock never crew.

But the spell may crack and the brydel breck,
Then sherpe yer werde will be;
Ye had better sleipe in yer bed at hame

Der kranke Sohn und die Mutter

The heartsick son and the mother
Were sleeping in the gloom,
And the Mother of God came softly
And entered the little room.

She bent down over the lover
And one white hand was drawn
Over his heart so gently
And, smiling, She was gone.

In a dream the mother saw this,
And would have seen still more
But the dogs' loud baying awoke her;

Die Mutter-Gottes zu Kevlaar

The Mother of God in Kevlaar
Puts on her finest cloak —
To-day they will keep her busy,
The crowds of wretched folk.

For all the sick in Kevlaar
Bring her, as offerings meet,
Limbs made of cunning waxwork,
Wax arms and waxen feet.

And whoso brings a wax arm
His arm is healed of its wound,
And whoso brings a wax foot

Am Fenster stand die Mutter

The mother stands by the window,
The son on the bed doth lie.
" Will you not rise up, William,
And see the throngs go by? "

" I am so sick, my mother,
I cannot hear or see;
The thought of my dead Gretchen
Is all that lives in me. "

" Rise up, and then to Kevlaar
With book and cross we'll go;
God's Mother, She will heal you

Mysterious Earth! mother of trees and flowers,
— Born in thy busy darkness — home of men!
Whose turning sets the timeless flight of hours,
— Who weavest life and dost unweave again;

In some far distant star, whereof no word
— Hath traversed space, or human or divine,
They call thee by a name we never heard.
— Night after night they look to see thee shine.

Old Earth, if thou were burnt, a blazing light,
— With all the men and beasts that in thee are,
The dwellers in the kindred worlds of night

Now the sky is inky black,
And the clouds a driven rack,
Now the wind of death is blowing.
— " Sceptre and crown
— Shall tumble down. "
How the kings of the earth are going!

All greenery hath faded from the trees,
— The soft red earth turns brown,
No leaflet even stirring in the breeze,
— Slowly the night sinks down.
The sun is gone, but in the lighted west
— The gracious tokens of his going are,
And quick to shine out-gleaming all the rest,
— Brighter for darkness grows a single star.

The great rain is over,
— The little rain begun,
Falling from the higher leaves,
— Bright in the sun,
Down to the lower leaves,
— One drop by one.