by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
My neighbour, none can e'er deny,
Is a most beauteous maid;
Her shop is ever in mine eye,
When working at my trade.
To ring and chain I hammer then
The wire of gold assay'd,
And think the while: "For Kate, oh when
Will such a ring be made?"
And when she takes her shutters down,
Her shop at once invade,
To buy and haggle, all the town,
For all that's there displayd.
I file, and maybe overfile
The wire of gold assay'd;
My master grumbles all the while,--
Her shop the mischief made.
To ply her wheel she straight begins,
When not engaged in trade;
I know full well for what she spins,--
'Tis hope guides that dear maid.
Her leg, while her small foot treads on,
Is in my mind portray'd;
Her garter I recall anon,--
I gave it that dear maid.
Then to her lips the finest thread
Is by her hand convey'd.
Were I there only in its stead,
How I would kiss the maid!
Last updated May 02, 2015