|
|
Self-Deceit.
By Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
My neighbour's curtain, well I see,
Is moving to and fin.
No doubt she's list'ning eagerly,
If I'm at home or no.
And if the jealous grudge I bore
And openly confess'd,
Is nourish'd by me as before,
Within my inmost breast.
Alas! no fancies such as these
E'er cross'd the dear child's thoughts.
I see 'tis but the ev'ning breeze
That with the curtain sports.
Extra Info:
Translated in the original metres by Edgar Alfred Bowring
|
|
Printable Page
Add Your Thoughts on this poem.
This page viewed 566 times.
|
|
