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Poems of Goethe

MISCHIEVOUS JOY.

AS a butterfly renew'd,

When in life I breath'd my last,

  To the spots my flight I wing,

Scenes of heav'nly rapture past,

  Over meadows, to the spring,
Round the hill, and through the wood.

Soon a tender pair I spy,

And I look down from my seat

  On the beauteous maiden's head--

When embodied there I meet

  All I lost as soon as dead,
Happy as before am I.

Him she clasps with silent smile,

And his mouth the hour improves,

  Sent by kindly Deities;

First from breast to mouth it roves,

  Then from mouth to hands it flies,
And I round him sport the while.

And she sees me hov'ring near;

Trembling at her lovers rapture,

  Up she springs--I fly away,

"Dearest! let's the insect capture

  Come! I long to make my prey
Yonder pretty little dear!"

                                1767-9.