Poems (Hooper)/Yearning
For works with similar titles, see Yearning.
YEARNING.
Nun wandelt von den Bergen sacht.
Down from the mount, with footstep light,Glides to the lake the summer night;Throughout its deepest shades I goThe while with dreams my soul doth glow;The blossomed vine, with fragrance rare,Intoxicates the passing air;The glow-worm weaves its path of light Unto the tower walls afar,And overhead with deepest fire Looks down on me each mystic star.
This is the hour when yearning strongFashions the scented air to song;Yearning that, deep in rock, wood, dell,In every creature's heart doth dwell;Yearning that with resistless mightForces through rocks the spring to light.It bids the forest stretch to heav'n Its thousand verdant arms in vain; It rings as echoes from the cliff; It wanders in the wind's wild strain:We hear it in the music-wailsOf silver-throated nightingales;And from the mild eyes of the flow'rsIts silent soul looks up to ours.
O Yearning! thou who, like a child, Though lulled with sweetest songs asleep,Dost ever waken and arise Only anew to wail and weep,How dost thou heart and soul to-dayWith thy complaining bear away!Oh would that I might pinions wearAnd disembodied cleave the air!I must bestow with willing mindAll that my being holds enshrined;My overflowing heart's whole treasure,Love, reverence, and pain, and pleasure;All that my inmost heart holds stored—All, must I, in a single word,As in one golden cup fling free,Then pour all spendthrift forth to thee.
In vain! No word, however great,Can free us from the force of fate; To quench the soul's thirst we may bringThe waters of no earthly spring.Ah! once I dreamed in golden hours— The sunny May-time of the heart—That I the mystic secret knew, That Love could bid all pangs depart;What then I prized, what held so dear,Is mine—the yearning still is here.
Then rest, O troubled heart! and knowNot every bloom to fruit doth grow;Thou bear'st in thee, Earth's silent guest,What seeketh heaven with wild unrest,What drives thee ever on thy way Of darkness and of weariness;It is the first thrill of the wings Inclosed within the chrysalis;Thyself scarce know'st thy pang to beHomesickness for Eternity.Geibel.