To the Moon

(1777; this second version published 1789)

 

Flooding with a brilliant mist

Valley, bush and tree,

You release me. Oh for once

Heart and soul I'm free!

 

Easy on the region round

Goes your wider gaze,

Like a friend's indulgent eye

Measuring my days.

 

Every echo from the past,

Glum or gaudy mood,

Haunts me – weighing bliss and pain

In the solitude.

 

River, flow and flow away;

Pleasure's dead to me:

Gone the laughing kisses, gone

Lips and loyalty.

 

All in my possession once!

Such a treasure yet

Any man would pitch in pain

Rather than forget.

 

Water, rush along the pass,

Never lag at ease;

Rush, and rustle to my song

Changing melodies,

 

How in dark December you

Roll amok in flood;

Curling, in the gala May,

Under branch and bud.

 

Happy man, that rancor-free

Shows the world his door;

One companion by – and both

In a glow before

 

Something never guessed by men

Or rejected quite:

Which, in mazes of the breast,

Wanders in the night

 

 

Translated by Christopher Middleton