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Goethe - Love's Distresses

Love Poems

Who will hear me? Whom shall I lament to?
Who would pity me that heard my sorrows?
Ah, the lip that erst so many raptures
Used to taste, and used to give responsive,
Now is cloven, and it pains me sorely;
And it is not thus severely wounded
By my mistress having caught me fiercely,
And then gently bitten me, intending
To secure her friend more firmly to her:
No, my tender lip is crack'd thus, only
By the winds, o'er rime and frost proceeding,
Pointed, sharp, unloving, having met me.
Now the noble grape's bright juice commingled
With the bee's sweet juice, upon the fire
Of my hearth, shall ease me of my torment.
Ah, what use will all this be, if with it
Love adds not a drop of his own balsam?


Love Poems

Alexander Pushkin
Ben Jonson
Carl Sandburg
Dante Alighieri
D. H. Lawrence
Edgar Allen Poe
E.E. Cummings
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Emily Dickinson
Goethe
Lord Byron
Oscar Wilde
Pablo Neruda
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Robert Browning
Robert Herrick
Robert Frost
Walter Savage Landor
William Shakespeare


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