William Butler Yeats, He Wishes his Beloved were Dead

hortirhenani — Mon, 11 Jun 2018 19:22:00 +0000

Were you but lying cold and dead,
And lights were paling out of the West,
You would come hither, and bend your head,
And I would lay my head on your breast;
And you would murmur tender words,
Forgiving me, because you were dead:
Nor would you rise and hasten away,
Though you have the will of wild birds,
But know your hair was bound and wound
About the stars and moon and sun:
O would, beloved, that you lay
Under the dock-leaves in the ground,
While lights were paling one by one.

Er wünscht sich die Geliebte tot

Lägst endlich du im kühlen Grab,
und bliese Westen Dämmerdust,
du kämest, neigtest dich herab,
mein Haupt bärg ich an deiner Brust.
Du flüstertest mir zu so mild,
vergäbest mir, du Hauch vom Grab,
erhöbst dich nicht, gingst nicht davon,
war auch dein Wille vogelwild.
Nun ist du weißt dein Haar ein Band,
gezwirnt um Sonne, Mond und Stern,
O lägest du, Geliebte, schon
bedeckt von Ampfers Laub im Sand
und Lichter fahlten nah und fern.

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William Butler Yeats, He Wishes his Beloved were Dead