Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Translation Trashbin - 44. Shlaf ich an silbernen Bächen
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Durchschweif ich den Laubhain moosigkühl,
Und schlaf ich an silbernen Bächen,
Da wächst mir im Busen ein stilles Gefühl,
Vermöcht ich’s auszusprechen!
Und seh ich mein schwebendes Bild in der Flut,
Und zittern die Wipfel der Buchen,
Da regt sich dunkel mir sehnende Glut,
Und immer vergebliches Suchen.
Wie nenn ich’s, was in mein Herz sich schleicht,
Ruhstörend und sacht, wie Diebe?
Sehnsucht nach fremden Gefilden vielleicht?
Vielleicht nach heimischer Liebe?
—August von Platen,
1822
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I ramble through a mossy-cool, leafy glade,
And rest me by banks of silver streams,
Where a silent thought grows in me like a blade,
To dare and name it outside of dreams.
For I see my image floating on a tide,
And tremble with the beech-tops in pain,
As my dappled longings glow in me with pride,
Yet ever seem to seek out in vain.
How do I christen this which is in my heart
Come stealing peace like a thief o'er the moors?
Is it a desire for a land apart?
Or perhaps for love on native shores?
—August von Platen,
1822
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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