The Hunter's Even-Song.

A poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

The plain with still and wand'ring feet,

And gun full-charged, I tread,
And hov'ring see thine image sweet,

Thine image dear, o'er head.

In gentle silence thou dost fare

Through field and valley dear;
But doth my fleeting image ne'er

To thy mind's eye appear?

His image, who, by grief oppress'd,

Roams through the world forlorn,
And wanders on from east to west,

Because from thee he's torn?

When I would think of none but thee,

Mine eyes the moon survey;
A calm repose then steals o'er me,

But how, 'twere hard to say.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'The Hunter's Even-Song.' by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy