«Along the noisy streets I wander, / A church invites me, it may be, / Or with mad youths my time I squander, / And still these thoughts are haunting me: This year will fly, the next will follow / As fast, and all whom you see here / Eternity at last will swallow; / For some the hour is ...»
«Poet, be deaf to popular acclaim; / The tumult of ecstatic praise will die; / The crowd's chill laughter and the dullard's blame / Thou with austere, calm firmness shalt put by. Thou art a king. Live then alone, on high. / Take the free road thy spirit bids thee tread, / Perfect the fruit...»
«The clouds are scurrying and spinning; / The moon, in hiding, casts her light / Upon the flying snow; the heavens / Are troubled, troubled is the night / I drive across the naked country, / The bells go ding! and ding, again! / Lonely and lost, I gaze in terror / Upon the unfamiliar pl...»
«The mirth, now dead, that once was madly bubbling, / Like fumes of last night's cups, is vaguely troubling; / Not so the griefs that to those years belong: / Like wine, I find, with age they grow more strong. / My path is bleak — before me stretch my morrows: / A tossing sea, foreboding ...»