Frühling / Spring (Heinrich Heine)

Die Wellen blinken und fließen dahin—
Es liebt sich so lieblich im Lenze!
Am Flusse sitzet die Schäferin 
Und windet die zärtlichsten Kränze.

Das knospet und quillt, mit duftender Lust—
Es liebt sich so lieblich im Lenze!
Die Schäferin seufzt aus tiefer Brust:
Wem geb' ich meine Kränze?

Ein Reiter reitet den Fluß entlang,
Er grüßet so blühenden Muthes!
Die Schäferin schaut ihm nach so bang,
Fern flattert die Feder des Huthes.

Sie weint und wirft in den gleitenden Fluß
Die schönen Blumenkränze.
Die Nachtigall singt von Lieb' und Kuß—
Es liebt sich so lieblich im Lenze!


The ripples flow glancing and glittering by—
In springtime how lovely is love!
The shepherdess sits on the riverbank
With the delicate garlands she wove.

The budding, the streaming, the fragrant joy—
In springtime how lovely is love!
The shepherdess sighs from deep in her breast:
To whom shall I give what I wove?

A horseman rides by the river's edge
And greets her, so blooming and brave;
She gazes after him longingly,
And far off sees his cap's feather wave.

She weeps and throws in the smooth-flowing stream
The beautiful garlands she wove.
The nightingale sings of desire and a kiss—
In springtime how lovely is love!

50 (Catullus)

Hesterno, Licini, die otiosi
multum lusimus in meis tabellis,
ut convenerat esse delicatos:
scribens versiculos uterque nostrum
ludebat numero modo hoc modo illoc,
reddens mutua per iocum atque vinum.
Atque illinc abii tuo lepore
incensus, Licini, facetiisque,
ut nec me miserum cibus iuvaret
nec somnus tegeret quiete ocellos,
sed toto indomitus furore lecto
versarer, cupiens videre lucem,
ut tecum loquerer simulque ut essem.
At defessa labore membra postquam
semimortua lectulo iacebant,
hoc, iucunde, tibi poema feci,
ex quo perspiceres meum dolorem.
Nunc audax cave sis, precesque nostras,
oramus, cave despuas, ocelle,
ne poenas Nemesis reposcat a te.
Est vemens dea: laedere hanc caveto.


Licinius, we were idle yesterday
and played around a good deal in my notebook,
since we'd agreed that we'd be hedonists.
So each of us was playing, writing verses,
just ditties in this meter and in that one,
taking our turns in merriment and wine.
I went away so fired up by this,
Licinius, by your charm and wittiness,
my wretched self found food no consolation
and sleep could lay no quiet on my eyes,
but frenzied, driven wild, I rolled all over
the bed and longed to see the next day's light
so I could talk to you and be with you.
But when my limbs were tired from all this effort
and lay half-dead, exhausted on my bed,
I wrote this for you, my delightful friend,
so that you'd understand my suffering.
Now careful not to be too bold, and don't,
I beg you, darling, scoff at my entreaties,
or Nemesis will make you pay for it.
She's a harsh goddess: cross her at your peril.