Goethe, “Amor als Landschaftsmaler” (1787) (Weimarer Ausgabe 2:182; here Goethe’s Works, trans. Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen [Philadelphia 1885], 1:164–65, with accompanying illustration):
Love as a Landscape Painter
On a rocky peak once sat I early, Gazing on the mist with eyes unmoving; Stretch'd out like a pall of grayish texture, All things round, and all above it cover'd. Suddenly a boy appear'd beside me, Saying, "Friend, what meanest thou by gazing On the vacant pall with such composure? Hast thou lost for evermore all pleasure Both in painting cunningly, and forming?" On the child I gaz'd, and thought in secret: "Would the boy pretend to be a master?" "Would'st thou be forever dull and idle," Said the boy, "no wisdom thou'lt attain to; See, I'll straightway paint for thee a figure, — How to paint a beauteous figure, show thee." And he then extended his fore-finger, — (Ruddy was it as a youthful rosebud) Tow'rd the broad and far outstretching carpet, And began to draw there with his finger. First on high a radiant sun he painted, Which upon mine eyes with splendor glisten'd, And he made the clouds with golden border, Through the clouds he let the sunbeams enter; Painted then the soft and feathery summits Of the fresh and quicken'd trees, behind them One by one with freedom drew the mountains; Underneath he left no lack of water, But the river painted so like Nature, That it seem'd to glitter in the sunbeams, That it seem'd against its banks to murmur. Ah, there blossom'd flowers beside the river, And bright colors gleam'd upon the meadow, Gold, and green, and purple, and enamell'd All like carbuncles and emeralds seeming! Bright and clear he added then the heavens, And the blue-tinged mountains far and farther, So that I, as though newborn, enraptur'd Gaz'd on, now the painter, now the picture. Then spake he: "Although I have convinc'd thee That this art I understand full surely, Yet the hardest still is left to show thee." Thereupon he trac'd, with pointed finger, And with anxious care, upon the forest, At the utmost verge, where the strong sunbeams From the shining ground appear'd reflected, Trac'd the figure of a lovely maiden, Fair in form, and clad in graceful fashion, Fresh the cheeks beneath her brown locks' ambush, And the cheeks possess'd the selfsame color As the finger that had serv'd to paint them. "O thou boy!" exclaim'd I then, "what master In his school receiv'd thee as his pupil, Teaching thee so truthfully and quickly Wisely to begin, and well to finish?" Whilst I still was speaking, lo, a zephyr Softly rose, and set the tree-tops moving, Curling all the wavelets on the river, And the perfect maiden's veil, too, fill'd it, And to make my wonderment still greater, Soon the maiden set her foot in motion. On she came, approaching tow'rd the station Where still sat I with my arch instructor. As now all, yes, all thus mov'd together, — Flowers, rivers, trees, the veil, — all moving, — And the gentle foot of that most fair one, Can ye think that on my rock I linger'd, Like a rock, as though fast-chain'd and silent?