Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/391

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POEMS OF GOETHE
357

My strains but to the careless crowd belong,
Their smiles but sorrow to my heart convey;
And all who heard my numbers erst with gladness,
If living yet, roam o'er the earth in sadness.

Long buried yearnings in my breast arise,
Yon calm and solemn spirit-realm to gain;
Like the Æolian harp's sweet melodies,
My murmuring song breathes forth its changeful strain,
A trembling seizes me, tears fill mine eyes,
And softer grows my rugged heart amain.
All I possess far distant seems to be,
The vanished only seems reality.


II.

PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN.

THE ARCHANGELS' SONG.

RAPHAEL.

The sun still chants, as in old time,
With brother-shepherds in choral song,
And with his thunder-march sublime
Moves his predestined course along.
Strength find the angels in his sight,
Though he by none may fathomed be;
Still glorious is each work of might
As when first formed in majesty.

GABRIEL.

And swift and swift, in wondrous guise,

Revolves the earth in splendour bright,