43
This throbbing shows what we abandoned 44
By the waters that make faint moan 45
Lustre and fame!
This throbbing shows what we abandoned 44
By the waters that make faint moan 45
Lustre and fame!
Stefan George - Selections from His Works and Others
Through his personality; his pathos and
ethology he has furthermore engendered a new ideal;
a synthesis of Christian and Pagan feeling which in
this form has not existed before. That the English-
speaking public may gain at any rate some faint idea
of his genius, it has been my joyous task to translate
the following small selection of his works.
421202
?
? INDEX OF FIRST LINES
I may not lean across the wicket, turning 11
As on the languorous settle 12
Silvery swallows I saw flying 13
Through the blossoms softly simmer 17
Were it much to implore thee 18
Since I be down-cast 19
See my child I'm going 20
This is just the kind of morning 21
Through the casement a noble-child saw 22
Come in the death-foreboded park, to view 25
'Neath trembling tree-tops to and fro we wander 26
Let us surround the silent pool 27
To-day we will not cross the garden-railing 27
The blue-toned campions and the blood-red poppies . . . 28
Doth still before thee rise the beauteous image 29
There laughs in the heightening year, soft 30
The blissful meadows beckoned. To the stile 31
Night of grief and gloom }? 31
I know you step within mine house 32
'Tis not wise until the latest hour 32
The hill where o'er we wander lies in shadow 33
Needs must thou be upon the wastelands yearning . . . 34
Seek not to know which song or saying yields 37
As long as tinted haze the mountain covered 38
Ye speak of raptures that are void and friendless 39
? Look at this azure hour 40
I stood in summer waiting. Now with pallor 41
Blossoms of summer, rich is your fragrance still 42
Can such a pain be branded?
43
This throbbing shows what we abandoned 44
By the waters that make faint moan 45
Lustre and fame! thus ariseth our sphere 46
Troubled soul -- thus didst thou ask -- why art thou
mourning? 49
Now let me call across the snow-clad meadows 50
There were no ruins, neither fragments 51
In sorrow day and night the disciple watched 52
Sunlight slantingly flows 53
The wild resplendence of the year resolves 54
Doth live for thee again, Beloved that October? 55
In white and glowing blossomy undulation 57
Stars ascend up there 58
Par from the harbour's noise 59
My child came home 60
Love calls not worthy him whoe'er renounced 61
Behold the crossways 62
Windows where I gazed with you 63
Whene'er I stand upon your bridge 64
? FROM
HYMNS, PILGRIMAGES, ALGABAL
ERRATA
Page 20, line 11, for " Brief " read " Grief. "
Page 34, line 5, for " put" read "but. "
Page 63, line 8, for " through " read " threw. "
?
? From--" Visions
I may not lean across the wicket, turning
My gaze so long towards the lawn,
I hear a mellow flute's afar-off yearning.
Amid the laurels laughs a fawn.
Whene'er I meet you at the ruddy tower,
You ne'er reward me with more gentle tread,
You know not how I prize this sacred hour,
How sad I am when it is dead.
Denying that which mine own spirit guesses
--Our great and ancient fame is also known--
Can I tear off the scarf which veils my tresses,
And with an early widowhood atone?
Oh may he glean my lips delights unbidden,
--I gleaned them all since as a dream he rose--
The oleanders "mid the fragrance hidden
And others smiling as the jasmin blows.
I may not lean across the wicket, turning
My gaze so long towards the lawn,
I hear a mellow flute's afar-off yearning,
Amid the laurels laughs a fawn.
11
?
ethology he has furthermore engendered a new ideal;
a synthesis of Christian and Pagan feeling which in
this form has not existed before. That the English-
speaking public may gain at any rate some faint idea
of his genius, it has been my joyous task to translate
the following small selection of his works.
421202
?
? INDEX OF FIRST LINES
I may not lean across the wicket, turning 11
As on the languorous settle 12
Silvery swallows I saw flying 13
Through the blossoms softly simmer 17
Were it much to implore thee 18
Since I be down-cast 19
See my child I'm going 20
This is just the kind of morning 21
Through the casement a noble-child saw 22
Come in the death-foreboded park, to view 25
'Neath trembling tree-tops to and fro we wander 26
Let us surround the silent pool 27
To-day we will not cross the garden-railing 27
The blue-toned campions and the blood-red poppies . . . 28
Doth still before thee rise the beauteous image 29
There laughs in the heightening year, soft 30
The blissful meadows beckoned. To the stile 31
Night of grief and gloom }? 31
I know you step within mine house 32
'Tis not wise until the latest hour 32
The hill where o'er we wander lies in shadow 33
Needs must thou be upon the wastelands yearning . . . 34
Seek not to know which song or saying yields 37
As long as tinted haze the mountain covered 38
Ye speak of raptures that are void and friendless 39
? Look at this azure hour 40
I stood in summer waiting. Now with pallor 41
Blossoms of summer, rich is your fragrance still 42
Can such a pain be branded?
43
This throbbing shows what we abandoned 44
By the waters that make faint moan 45
Lustre and fame! thus ariseth our sphere 46
Troubled soul -- thus didst thou ask -- why art thou
mourning? 49
Now let me call across the snow-clad meadows 50
There were no ruins, neither fragments 51
In sorrow day and night the disciple watched 52
Sunlight slantingly flows 53
The wild resplendence of the year resolves 54
Doth live for thee again, Beloved that October? 55
In white and glowing blossomy undulation 57
Stars ascend up there 58
Par from the harbour's noise 59
My child came home 60
Love calls not worthy him whoe'er renounced 61
Behold the crossways 62
Windows where I gazed with you 63
Whene'er I stand upon your bridge 64
? FROM
HYMNS, PILGRIMAGES, ALGABAL
ERRATA
Page 20, line 11, for " Brief " read " Grief. "
Page 34, line 5, for " put" read "but. "
Page 63, line 8, for " through " read " threw. "
?
? From--" Visions
I may not lean across the wicket, turning
My gaze so long towards the lawn,
I hear a mellow flute's afar-off yearning.
Amid the laurels laughs a fawn.
Whene'er I meet you at the ruddy tower,
You ne'er reward me with more gentle tread,
You know not how I prize this sacred hour,
How sad I am when it is dead.
Denying that which mine own spirit guesses
--Our great and ancient fame is also known--
Can I tear off the scarf which veils my tresses,
And with an early widowhood atone?
Oh may he glean my lips delights unbidden,
--I gleaned them all since as a dream he rose--
The oleanders "mid the fragrance hidden
And others smiling as the jasmin blows.
I may not lean across the wicket, turning
My gaze so long towards the lawn,
I hear a mellow flute's afar-off yearning,
Amid the laurels laughs a fawn.
11
?
