From The Mountain
IF I, dearest Lily, did not love thee,
How this prospect would enchant my sight!
And yet if I, Lily, did not love thee,
Could I find, or here, or there, delight?
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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The Same
HUSH'D on the hill
Is the breeze;
Scarce by the zephyr
The trees
Softly are press'd;
The woodbird's asleep on the bough.
Wait, then, and thou
Soon wilt find rest.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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The Way To Behave
THOUGH tempers are bad and peevish folks swear,
Remember to ruffle thy brows, friend, ne'er;
And let not the fancies of women so fair
E'er serve thy pleasure in life to impair.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Flower-Salute
THIS nosegay,--'twas I dress'd it,--
Greets thee a thousand times!
Oft stoop'd I, and caress'd it,
Ah! full a thousand times,
And 'gainst my bosom press'd it
A hundred thousand times!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Sicilian Song
YE black and roguish eyes,
If ye command.
Each house in ruins lies,
No town can stand.
And shall my bosom's chain,--
This plaster wall,
To think one moment, deign,--
Shall I not fall?
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Like And Like
A FAIR bell-flower
Sprang tip from the ground;
And early its fragrance
It shed all around;
A bee came thither
And sipp'd from its bell;
That they for each other
Were made, we see well.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Rules For Monarchs
IF men are never their thoughts to employ,
Take care to provide them a life full of joy;
But if to some profit and use thou wouldst bend them,
Take care to shear them, and then defend them.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Epitaph
As a boy, reserved and naughty;
As a youth, a coxcomb and haughty;
As a man, for action inclined;
As a greybeard, fickle in mind.--
Upon thy grave will people read:
This was a very man, indeed!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Apparent Death
WEEP, maiden, weep here o'er the tomb of Love;
He died of nothing--by mere chance was slain.
But is he really dead?--oh, that I cannot prove:
A nothing, a mere chance, oft gives him life again.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Book Of Contemplation - Firdusi
OH world, with what baseness and guilt thou art rife!
Thou nurtures, trainest, and illest the while.
He only whom Allah doth bless with his smile
Is train'd and is nurtured with riches and life.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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