Gedichte

Hier findest du Gedichte für das ganze Jahr. Außerdem haben wir Feengedichte.

Maxwell Parish (????-????):
Aircastles (Ausschnitt)

 

Eines Tages wird man offiziell zugeben müssen,
daß das, was wir Wirklichkeit getauft haben,
eine noch größere Illusion ist als die Welt des Traumes.

Salvatore Dali

Auf dieser Seite findest du Gedichte über Elfen und Feen. Zu den englischen findest du hier auch eine Übersetzung von der Rabenfrau.

Seitenende

Inhalt:

    Für die Übersetzung der englischen Gedichte bitte hier klicken

     

      

     

     

    WILLIAM ALLINGHAM (1824-1889)
    THE FAIRIES

    Up the airy mountain,
    Down the rushy glen,
    We daren't go a-hunting
    For fear of little men;
    Wee folk, good folk,
    Trooping all together;
    Green jacket, red cap,
    And white owl's feather!
    Down along the rocky shore
    Some make their home,
    They live on crispy pancakes
    Of yellow tide-foam;
    Some in the reeds
    Of the black mountain-lake,
    With frogs for their watch-dogs,
    All night awake.
    High on the hill-top
    The old King sits;
    He is now so old and gray
    He's nigh lost his wits.
    With a bridge of white mist
    Columbkill he crosses
    On his stately journeys
    From Slieveleague to Rosses;
    Or going up with music
    On cold starry nights,
    To sup with the Queen
    Of the gay Northern Lights.
    They stole little Bridget
    For seven years long;
    When she came down again
    Her friends were all gone.
    They took her lightly back,
    Between the night and morrow,
    They thought that she was fast asleep,
    But she was dead with sorrow.
    They have kept her ever since
    Deep within the lake,
    On a bed of flag-leaves,
    Watching till she wake.
    By the craggy hill-side,
    Through the mosses bare,
    They have planted thorn-trees
    For pleaseure here and there.
    Is any man so daring
    As to dig one up in spite,
    He shall find the thornies set
    In his bed at night.
    Up the airy mountain,
    Down the rushy glen,
    We daren't go a-hunting
    For fear of little men;
    Wee folk, good folk,
    Trooping all together;
    Green jacket, red cap,
    And white owl's feather!

    zum Inhalt


    EMILIY DICKINSON (1830-1886)
    CHERRYTIME

    When I sound the fairy call,
    Gather here in silent meeting,
    Chin to knee on the orchard wall,
    Cooled with dew and cherries eating.
    Merry, merry,
    Take a cherry;
    Mine are sounder,
    Mine are rounder,
    Mine are sweeter.
    For the eater
    When the dews fall.
    And you'll be fairies all.

    zum Inhalt

    HEINRICH HEINE (1797-1856)
    DIE ELFEN

    Durch den Wald im Mondenscheine
    sah ich jüngst die Elfen reiten;
    ihre Hörner hört´ich klingen,
    ihre Glöckchen hört´ich läuten

    Ihre weißen Rößlein trugen
    güldnes Hirschgewei und flogen
    rasch dahin wie wilde Schwäne
    Kam es durch die Luft gezogen

    Lächelnd nickt mir die Kön´gin,
    lächelnd im Vorüberreiten.
    Galt das meiner neuen Liebe,
    oder soll es Tod bedeuten?

    zum Inhalt


    Sir Frank Dicksee: La Belle Dame sans Merci

    JOHN KEATS (1795-1821)
    LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI

    I
    Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
    Alone and palely loitering;
    The sedge is wither'd from the lake,
    And no birds sing.

    II
    Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
    So haggard and so woe-begone?
    The squirrel's granary is full,
    And the harvest's done.

    III
    I see a lily on thy brow,
    With anguish moist and fever dew;
    And on thy cheek a fading rose
    Fast withereth too.

    IV
    I met a lady in the meads
    Full beautiful, a faery's child;
    Her hair was long, her foot was light,
    And her eyes were wild.

    V
    I set her on my pacing steed,
    And nothing else saw all day long;
    For sideways would she lean, and sing
    A faery's song.

    VI
    I made a garland for her head,
    And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
    She look'd at me as she did love,
    And made sweet moan.

    VII
    She found me roots of relish sweet,
    And honey wild, and manna dew;
    And sure in language strange she said,
    I love thee true.

    VIII
    She took me to her elfin grot,
    And there she gaz'd and sighed deep,
    And there I shut her wild sad eyes -
    So kiss'd to sleep.

    IX
    And there we slumber'd on the moss,
    And there I dream'd, ah woe betide,
    The latest dream I ever dream'd
    On the cold hill side.

    X
    I saw pale kings, and princes too,
    Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
    Who cry'd - 'La Belle Dame sans merci
    Hath thee in thrall!'

    XI
    I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam
    With horrid warning gaped wide,
    And I awoke, and found me here
    On the cold hill side.

    XII
    And this is why I sojourn here
    Alone and palely loitering,
    Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,
    And no birds sing.

    zum Inhalt

    EDUARD MÖRIKE (1804-1875 )
    ELLENLIED

    Bei Nacht im Dorf der Wächter rief:
    Elfe!
    Ein ganz kleines Elfchen im Walde schlief -
    Wohl um die Elfe! -
    Und meint, es rief ihm aus dem Tal
    Bei seinem Namen die Nachtigall,
    Oder Silpelit haett ihm gerufen.
    Reibt sich der Elf die Augen aus,
    Begibt sich vor sein Schneckenhaus,
    Und ist als wie ein trunken Mann,
    Sein Schlaeflein war nicht voll getan,
    Und humpelt also tippe tapp
    Durchs Haselholz ins Tal hinab,
    Schlupft an der Mauer hin so dicht,
    Da sitzt der Glühwurm, Licht an Licht.
    "Was sind das helle Fensterlein?
    Da drin wird eine Hochzeit sein:
    Die Kleinen sitzen beim Mahle,
    Und treibens in dem Saale.
    Da guck ich wohl ein wenig 'nein!"
    - Pfui, stoesst den Kopf an harten Stein!
    Elfe, gelt, du hast genug?
    Gukuk! Gukuk!

    zum Inhalt

    CHRISTIAN MORGENSTERN (1871-19149)
    DER ZWÖLFELF

    Der Zwölf-Elf hebt die linke Hand:
    Da schlägt es Mitternacht im Land.
    Es lauscht der Teich mit offnem Mund
    Ganz leise heult der Schluchtenhund.
    Die Dommel reckt sich auf im Rohr
    Der Moosfrosch lugt aus seinem Moor.
    Der Schneck horcht auf in seinem Haus
    Desgleichen die Kartoffelmaus.
    Das Irrlicht selbst macht Halt und Rast
    auf einem windgebrochnen Ast-
    Sophie, die Maid, hat ein Gesicht:
    Das Mondschaf geht zum Hochgericht.
    Die Galgenbrüder wehn im Wind.
    Im fernen Dorfe schreit ein Kind.
    Zwei Maulwürf küssen sich zur Stund
    als Neuvermählte auf den Mund.
    Hingegen tief im finstern Wald
    ein Nachtmahr seine Fäuste ballt:
    Dieweil ein später Wanderstrumpf
    sich nicht verlief in Teich und Sumpf.
    Der Rabe Ralf ruft schaurig: ,Kra!
    Das End ist da! Das End ist da!'
    Der Zwölf-Elf senkt die linke Hand:
    Und wieder schläft das ganze Land.


    CHRISTIAN MORGENSTERN (1871-19149)
    DAS PROBLEM

    Der Zwölf-Elf kam auf sein Problem
    und sprach: "Ich heisse unbequem.
    Als hiess ich etwa Drei-Vier
    statt Sieben - Gott verzeih mir!"
    Und siehe da, der Zwölf-Elf nannt sich
    von jenem Tag ab Dreiundzwanzig.

    zum Inhalt


    John Atkinson Grimshaw: Iris

    HEINRICH SEIDEL (1842-1902)
    DIE ELFE

    Nächtlich bei des Mondes Schimmer,
    Wenn der Wind schläft in den Wipfeln,
    Tanzt die wunderschöne Elfe
    Auf dem stillen, schilfumgebnen
    Wasserrosenteich im Walde.
    Nimmer dringt in diese Gründe
    Nur ein Hauch des Menschendaseins!
    Selbst der Glocke weithinhallend
    Klanggeton stirbt versummend
    In dem weiten Meer der Wipfel.
    Und es steht der Wald im Lauschen
    Auf das eigne Schweigen lautlos.
    Und die wunderschöne Elfe
    Wiegt sich über stillem Wasser
    Wie ein schimmernd Duftgebilde,
    Dass das leuchtend helle Goldhaar
    Um die weissen Glieder wallet.
    Breitend ihre schönen Arme
    Schwebt sie ob dem dunklen Grunde,
    Wie ein lieblicher Gedanke

    zum Inhalt


    WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1564-1616)
    IF YOU SEE A FAERY RING

    If you see a faery ring
    In a field of grass,
    Very lightly step around,
    Tip-toe as you pass,
    Last night faeries frolicked there-
    And they're sleeping somewhere near.
    If you see a tiny faery,
    Lying fast asleep
    Shut your eyes
    And run away,
    Do not stay to peek!
    Do not tell
    Or you'll break a faery spell.

    zum Inhalt

     

     

    (UNBEKANNT)
    HERE WE COME A-PIPING

    Here we come a-piping,
    In springtime and in May;
    Green fruit a-ripening,
    And Winter fled away.
    The Queen she sits upon the strand,
    Fair as lily, white as wand;
    Seven billows on the sea,
    Horses riding fast and free,
    And bells beyond the sand.

    zum Inhalt

     

    THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY (1797-1839)
    FAIRY SONG

    Oh, where do fairies hide their heads
    When snow lies on the hills
    When frost has spoil'd their mossy beds
    And crystalized their rills?
    Beneath the moon they cannot trip
    In circles o're the plain,
    And drafts of dew they cannot sip
    Till green leaves come again
    Till green leaves come again.
    Perhaps in small blue diving bells
    They plunge beneath the waves,
    Inhabiting the wreathed shells
    That lie in coral caves
    Perhaps in red Vesuvius Carousals they maintain
    And cheer their little spirits up
    Till green leaves come again
    Till green leaves come again.
    When back they come there'll be glad mirth
    And music in the air,
    And fairy wings upon the earth,
    And mischief everywhere
    The maids, to keep the elves aloof,
    will bar the doors in vain,
    No keyhole will be fairy proof
    When green leaves come again... till green leaves come again.

    zum Inhalt


    WILLIAM BLAKE (1757-1827)
    THE FAIRY

    Come hither my sparrows
    My little arrows
    If a tear or a smile
    Will a man beguile
    If an amorous delay
    Clouds a sunshiny day
    If the step of a foot
    Smites the heart to its root
    Tis the marriage ring
    Makes each fairy a king

    So a fairy sung
    From the leaves I sprung
    He leaped from the spray
    To flee away
    But in my hat caught
    He soon shall be taught
    Let him laugh let him cry
    He's my butterfly
    For I've pulled out the Sting
    Of the marriage ring.

    zum Inhalt


    Nils Blommer: Wiesenfeen

    JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE (1749-1832)
    ELFENLIED

    Um Mitternacht, wenn die Menschen erst schlafen,
    Dann scheinet uns der Mond,
    Dann leuchtet uns der Stern;
    Wir wandeln und singen
    Und tanzen erst gern.

    Um Mitternacht, wenn die Menschen erst schlafen,
    Auf Wiesen, an den Erlen
    Wir suchen unsern Raum
    Und wandeln und singen
    Und tanzen einen Traum.

    zum Inhalt

    LEIGH HUNT (1784-1859)
    SONG OF FAIRIES ROBBING AN ORCHARD

    We, the Fairies, blithe and antic,
    Of dimensions not gigantic,
    Though the moonshine mostly keep us,
    Oft in orchards frisk and peep us.

    Stolen sweets are always sweeter,
    Stolen kisses much completer,
    Stolen looks are nice in chapels,
    Stolen, stolen, be your apples.

    When to bed the world are bobbing,
    Then's the time for orchard-robbing;
    Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling,
    Were it not for stealing, stealing.

    zum Inhalt


    JOHN LYLY (1554-1606)
    BY THE MOON WE SPORT AND PLAY

    By the moon we sport and play,
    With the night begins our day,
    As we dance the dew doth fall:
    Trip it, little urchins all!
    Two by two, and three by three,
    And about go we, and about go we!

    zum Inhalt


    Florence Anderson: Fairy and Wesp


    KATHERINE MANSFIELD (1888-1923)
    THE OPAL DREAM CAVE

    In an opal dream cave I found a fairy:
    Her wings were frailer than flower petals,
    Frailer far than snowflakes.
    She was not frightened, but poised on my finger,
    Then delicately walked into my hand.
    I shut the two palms of my hands together
    And held her prisoner.
    I carried her out of the opal cave,
    Then opened my hands.
    First she became thistledown, Then a mote in a sunbeam,
    Then--nothing at all.
    Empty now is my opal dream cave.

    zum Inhalt


    EDGAR ALLAN POE (1809-1849)
    FAIRY-LAND

    Dim vales- and shadowy floods-
    And cloudy-looking woods,
    Whose forms we can't discover
    For the tears that drip all over!
    Huge moons there wax and wane-
    Again- again- again-
    Every moment of the night-
    Forever changing places-
    And they put out the star-light
    With the breath from their pale faces.
    About twelve by the moon-dial,
    One more filmy than the rest
    (A kind which, upon trial,
    They have found to be the best)
    Comes down- still down- and down,
    With its centre on the crown
    Of a mountain's eminence,
    While its wide circumference
    In easy drapery falls
    Over hamlets, over halls,
    Wherever they may be-
    O'er the strange woods- o'er the sea-
    Over spirits on the wing-
    Over every drowsy thing-
    And buries them up quite
    In a labyrinth of light-
    And then, how deep!- O, deep!
    Is the passion of their sleep.
    In the morning they arise,
    And their moony covering
    Is soaring in the skies,
    With the tempests as they toss,
    Like- almost anything-
    Or a yellow Albatross.
    They use that moon no more
    For the same end as before-
    Videlicet, a tent-
    Which I think extravagant:
    Its atomies, however,
    Into a shower dissever,
    Of which those butterflies
    Of Earth, who seek the skies,
    And so come down again,
    (Never-contented things!)
    Have brought a specimen
    Upon their quivering wings.

    zum Inhalt


    DORA SIGERSON SHORTER (1866-1918)
    THE WIND ON THE HILLS

    Go not to the hills of Erin
    When the night winds are about;
    Put up your bar and shutter
    And so keep the danger out.

    For the good-folk whirl within it,
    And they pull you by the hand,
    And they push you on the shoulder,
    Till you move to their command.

    And lo! you have forgotten
    What you have known of tears,
    And you will not remember
    That the world goes full of years:

    A year there is a lifetime
    And a second but a day;
    And an older world will meet you
    Each morn you come away.

    Your wife grows old with weeping,
    And your children one by one
    Grow gray with nights of watching,
    Before your dance is done.

    And it will chance some morning
    You will come home no more;
    Your wife sees but a withered leaf
    In the wind about the door.

    And your children will inherit
    The unrest of the wind;
    They shall seek some face elusive,
    And some land they never find.

    When the wind is loud, they sighing
    Go with hearts unsatisfied,
    For some joy beyond remembrance,
    For some memory denied.

    And all your children's children,
    They cannot sleep or rest,
    When the wind is out in Erin
    And the sun is in the West.

     

    zum Inhalt

     


    PERCY BYSHE SHELLEY (1792-1822)
    HYMN OF PAN

    From the forests and the highlands
    We come , We come;
    From the river girt islands,
    Where loud waves are dumb
    Listening to my sweet pipings.
    The wind in the reeds and the rushes
    The bees on the bells of thyme,
    The birds on the myrtle bushes,
    The cicale above in the lime,
    and lizards below in in the grass,
    Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was,
    Listening to my sweet pipings.

    The Seleni, and Sylvans, and Fauns,
    And the Nymphs of the woods and the waves,
    To the edge of the moist river lawns.
    And the brink of the dewy caves,
    And all that did then attend and follow,
    Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo,
    With envy of my sweet pipings.
    I sang of the dancing stars,
    I sang of the Daedal earth,
    And of Heaven- and the giant wars,
    And Love and Death, and Birth!

    zum Inhalt

     

    Faerieland/Inhalt

    Gedichte/Inhalt

    Rabenseiten/Inhalt

     


    Gästebuch

    Rabenseiten| Impressum | Faerieland | Blumiges | Lesestoff | Im Jahreskreis | Sternstunden| Just for the girls | Ein Moment in der Zeit