Home ⇒ 📌Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe ⇒ NOVEMBER SONG
NOVEMBER SONG
To the great archer not to him
To meet whom flies the sun,
And who is wont his features dim
With clouds to overrun
But to the boy be vow’d these rhymes,
Who ‘mongst the roses plays,
Who hear us, and at proper times
To pierce fair hearts essays.
Through him the gloomy winter night,
Of yore so cold and drear,
Brings many a loved friend to our sight,
And many a woman dear.
Henceforward shall his image fair
Stand in yon starry skies,
And, ever mild and gracious there,
Alternate set and rise.
1815.*
(2 votes, average: 3.50 out of 5)
Related poetry:
- November Cotton Flower Boll-weevil’s coming, and the winter’s cold, Made cotton-stalks look rusty, seasons old, And cotton, scarce as any southern snow, Was vanishing; the branch, so pinched and slow, Failed in its function as the autumn rake; Drouth fighting soil had caused the soil to take All water from the streams; dead birds were found In wells […]...
- A November Night There! See the line of lights, A chain of stars down either side the street Why can’t you lift the chain and give it to me, A necklace for my throat? I’d twist it round And you could play with it. You smile at me As though I were a little dreamy child Behind whose […]...
- 250. Song-She's Fair and Fause SHE’S fair and fause that causes my smart, I lo’ed her meikle and lang; She’s broken her vow, she’s broken my heart, And I may e’en gae hang. A coof cam in wi’ routh o’ gear, And I hae tint my dearest dear; But Woman is but warld’s gear, Sae let the bonie lass gang. […]...
- Tonight I Can Write Tonight I can write the saddest lines. Write, for example, ‘The night is starry And the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.’ The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. Through nights like this one I […]...
- Cuckoo Song (Spring begins in southern England on the 14th April, on which date the Old Woman lets the Cuckoo out of her basket at Heathfield Fair locally known as Heffle Cuckoo Fair.) Tell it to the locked-up trees, Cuckoo, bring your song here! Warrant, Act and Summons, please, For Spring to pass along here! Tell old […]...
- November There is wind where the rose was, Cold rain where sweet grass was, And clouds like sheep Stream o’er the steep Grey skies where the lark was. Nought warm where your hand was, Nought gold where your hair was, But phantom, forlorn, Beneath the thorn, Your ghost where your face was. Cold wind where your […]...
- Artist's Life Of all the waltzes the great Strauss wrote, Mad with melody, rhythm rife From the very first to the final note, Give me his “Artist’s Life!” It stirs my blood to my finger ends, Thrills me and fills me with vague unrest, And all that is sweetest and saddest blends Together within my breast. It […]...
- November Evening Come, for the dusk is our own; let us fare forth together, With a quiet delight in our hearts for the ripe, still, autumn weather, Through the rustling valley and wood and over the crisping meadow, Under a high-sprung sky, winnowed of mist and shadow. Sharp is the frosty air, and through the far hill-gaps […]...
- November The landscape sleeps in mist from morn till noon; And, if the sun looks through, ’tis with a face Beamless and pale and round, as if the moon, When done the journey of her nightly race, Had found him sleeping, and supplied his place. For days the shepherds in the fields may be, Nor mark […]...
- Song My silks and fine array, My smiles and languish’d air, By love are driv’n away; And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave; Such end true lovers have. His face is fair as heav’n When springing buds unfold; O why to him was’t giv’n Whose heart is wintry cold? His breast is […]...
- November Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun! One mellow smile through the soft vapoury air, Ere, o’er the frozen earth, the loud winds ran, Or snows are sifted o’er the meadows bare. One smile on the brown hills and naked trees, And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast, And the blue Gentian flower, […]...
- The Gardener XXVII: Trust Love “Trust love even if it brings sorrow. Do not close up your heart.” “Ah no, my friend, your words are Dark, I cannot understand them.” “Pleasure is frail like a dewdrop, While it laughs it dies. But sorrow is Strong and abiding. Let sorrowful Love wake in your eyes.” “Ah no, my friend, your words […]...
- A Lovers' Quarrel We two were lovers, the Sea and I; We plighted our troth ‘neath a summer sky. And all through the riotous ardent weather We dreamed, and loved, and rejoiced together. * * * At times my lover would rage and storm. I said: ‘No matter, his heart is warm.’ Whatever his humour, I loved his […]...
- The Sorrows of the Blind Pity the sorrows of the poor blind, For they can but little comfort find; As they walk along the street, They know not where to put their feet. They are deprived of that earthly joy Of seeing either man, woman, or boy; Sad and lonely through the world they go, Not knowing a friend from […]...
- Unlyric Love Song It is time to give that-of-myself which I could not at first: To offer you now at last my least and my worst: Minor, absurd preserves, The shell’s end-curves, A document kept at the back of a drawer, A tin hidden under the floor, Recalcitrant prides and hesitations: To pile them carefully in a desparate […]...
- Old Times Friend of my youth, let us talk of old times; Of the long lost golden hours. When “Winter” meant only Christmas chimes, And “Summer” wreaths of flowers. Life has grown old, and cold, my friend, And the winter now, means death. And summer blossoms speak all too plain Of the dear, dead forms beneath. But […]...
- Saddest Poem I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars, And the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.” The night wind whirls in the sky and sings. I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. On nights […]...
- 341. Song-My Bonie Bell THE SMILING Spring comes in rejoicing, And surly Winter grimly flies; Now crystal clear are the falling waters, And bonie blue are the sunny skies. Fresh o’er the mountains breaks forth the morning, The ev’ning gilds the ocean’s swell; All creatures joy in the sun’s returning, And I rejoice in my bonie Bell. The flowery […]...
- Fly Not Yet Fly not yet, ’tis just the hour, When pleasure, like the midnight flower That scorns the eye of vulgar light, Begins to bloom for sons of night, And maids who love the moon. ‘Twas but to bless these hours of shade That beauty and the moon were made; ‘Tis then their soft attractions glowing Set […]...
- 465. Song-It was a' for our rightfu' King IT was a’ for our rightfu’ King We left fair Scotland’s strand; It was a’ for our rightfu’ King We e’er saw Irish land, my dear, We e’er saw Irish land. Now a’ is done that men can do, And a’ is done in vain; My Love and Native Land fareweel, For I maun cross […]...
- Song From Marriage-A-La-Mode Why should a foolish marriage vow, Which long ago was made, Oblige us to each other now, When passion is decayed? We loved, and we loved, as long as we could, Till our love was loved out in us both; But our marriage is dead when the pleasure is fled: ‘Twas pleasure first made it […]...
- Lily-Bell and Thistledown Song II Thistledown in prison sings: Bright shines the summer sun, Soft is the summer air; Gayly the wood-birds sing, Flowers are blooming fair. But, deep in the dark, cold rock, Sadly I dwell, Longing for thee, dear friend, Lily-Bell! Lily-Bell! Lily-Bell replies: Through sunlight and summer air I have sought for thee long, Guided by birds […]...
- THE LOVING ONE ONCE MORE WHY do I o’er my paper once more bend? Ask not too closely, dearest one, I pray For, to speak truth, I’ve nothing now to say; Yet to thy hands at length ’twill come, dear friend. Since I can come not with it, what I send My undivided heart shall now convey, With all its […]...
- A spring poem from bion One asketh: “Tell me, Myrson, tell me true: What’s the season pleaseth you? Is it summer suits you best, When from harvest toil we rest? Is it autumn with its glory Of all surfeited desires? Is it winter, when with story And with song we hug our fires? Or is spring most fair to you […]...
- 344. Song-Nithdale's Welcome Hame THE NOBLE Maxwells and their powers Are coming o’er the border, And they’ll gae big Terreagles’ towers And set them a’ in order. And they declare Terreagles fair, For their abode they choose it; There’s no a heart in a’ the land But’s lighter at the news o’t. Tho’ stars in skies may disappear, And […]...
- Dream Song 85: Op. posth. no. 8 Flak. An eventful thought came to me, Who squirm in my hole. How will the matter end? Who’s king these nights? What happened to. . . day? Are ships abroad? I would like to but may not entertain a friend. Save me from ghastly frights, Triune! My wood or word seems to be rotting. I […]...
- 362. Song-Thou Gloomy December ANCE mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December! Ance mair I hail thee wi’ sorrow and care; Sad was the parting thou makes me remember- Parting wi’ Nancy, oh, ne’er to meet mair! Fond lovers’ parting is sweet, painful pleasure, Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour; But the dire feeling, O farewell for […]...
- The Death of the Flowers The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit’s tread; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs […]...
- Take Back the Virgin Page Written on Returning a Blank Book Take back the virgin page, White and unwritten still; Some hand, more calm and sage, The leaf must fill. Thoughts come, as pure as light Pure as even you require; But, oh! each word I write Love turns to fire. Yet let me keep the book: Oft shall my […]...
- 233. Song-O were I on Parnassus Hill O, WERE I on Parnassus hill, Or had o’ Helicon my fill, That I might catch poetic skill, To sing how dear I love thee! But Nith maun be my Muse’s well, My Muse maun be thy bonie sel’, On Corsincon I’ll glowr and spell, And write how dear I love thee. Then come, sweet […]...
- Monday Night May 11th 1846 / Domestic Peace Why should such gloomy silence reign; And why is all the house so drear, When neither danger, sickness, pain, Nor death, nor want have entered here? We are as many as we were That other night, when all were gay, And full of hope, and free from care; Yet, is there something gone away. The […]...
- The Frost-King – Song 1 We are sending you, dear flowers Forth alone to die, Where your gentle sisters may not weep O’er the cold graves where you lie; But you go to bring them fadeless life In the bright homes where they dwell, And you softly smile that’t is so, As we sadly sing farewell. O plead with gentle […]...
- 352. The Song of Death FAREWELL, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, Now gay with the broad setting sun; Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties, Our race of existence is run! Thou grim King of Terrors; thou Life’s gloomy foe! Go, frighten the coward and slave; Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know […]...
- A Calendar of Sonnets: November This is the treacherous month when autumn days With summer’s voice come bearing summer’s gifts. Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways, And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts, The violet returns. Snow noiseless sifts Ere […]...
- Winfreda (A BALLAD IN THE ANGLO-SAXON TONGUE) When to the dreary greenwood gloam Winfreda’s husband strode that day, The fair Winfreda bode at home To toil the weary time away; “While thou art gone to hunt,” said she, “I’ll brew a goodly sop for thee.” Lo, from a further, gloomy wood, A hungry wolf all bristling […]...
- GIPSY SONG IN the drizzling mist, with the snow high-pil’d, In the Winter night, in the forest wild, I heard the wolves with their ravenous howl, I heard the screaming note of the owl: Wille wau wau wau! Wille wo wo wo! Wito Hu! I shot, one day, a cat in a ditch The dear black cat […]...
- TO THE DISTANT ONE AND have I lost thee evermore? Hast thou, oh fair one, from me flown? Still in mine ear sounds, as of yore, Thine ev’ry word, thine ev’ry tone. As when at morn the wand’rer’s eye Attempts to pierce the air in vain, When, hidden in the azure sky, The lark high o’er him chaunts his […]...
- 213. Song-Up in the Morning Early CAULD blaws the wind frae east to west, The drift is driving sairly; Sae loud and shill’s I hear the blast- I’m sure it’s winter fairly. Chorus.-Up in the morning’s no for me, Up in the morning early; When a’ the hills are covered wi’ snaw, I’m sure it’s winter fairly. The birds sit chittering […]...
- A Sunset of the City Already I am no longer looked at with lechery or love. My daughters and sons have put me away with marbles and dolls, Are gone from the house. My husband and lovers are pleasant or somewhat polite And night is night. It is a real chill out, The genuine thing. I am not deceived, I […]...
- FINNISH SONG IF the loved one, the well-known one, Should return as he departed, On his lips would ring my kisses, Though the wolf’s blood might have dyed them; And a hearty grasp I’d give him, Though his finger-ends were serpents. Wind! Oh, if thou hadst but reason, Word for word in turns thou’dst carry, E’en though […]...
« Bearhug