^ M /" C... 
 
TO- 
 
 TnEODOR 
 QEKHflN 
 
/ i 
 
TO KARL THEODOR GERMAN 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 
 
 PLATEN 
 
 BY 
 
 REGINALD B. COOKE, Ph. D. 
 
 ITHACA. NEW YORK 
 
-^7 
 
 /p/3.<v--»-^^»-<_- 
 
 Entered in the Library of Congress, 
 
 and Copyright, 1 920, by 
 
 R. B. Cooke 
 
 This edition limited to one hundred copies. 
 Copy No...... 
 
Foreword 
 
 These sonnets, now presented in an English trans- 
 lation for the first time,* were written at Erlangen in the 
 early months of 1 826, and Eire thus of slightly later date 
 than the two cycles which 1 have previously translated.! 
 Platen first saw German, who was a theological student 
 from the Bavarian Palatinate, in November, 1825, and 
 first spoke to him at a ball in January, 1 826. We may 
 believe, as Platen tells us, that the friendship which these 
 sonnets celebrate, though of such a short duration and 
 unhappy ending, surpassed all his earlier attachments in 
 strength and purity of feeling, but his judgment that the 
 sonnets similarly excel all those of earlier date may 
 prove to many less acceptable. 
 
 The rhyme-scheme of these translations is again 
 identical with that of the originals, these sonnets showing 
 no exception to Platen's regular form. I have once made 
 use of a feminine rhyme, where the high-flown language 
 of the German seemed to warrant this departure from 
 custom; and once 1 have carried on one of the octave's 
 rhymes through the sestet, a procedure to which, though 
 it is generally disapproved, I cannot see the least ob- 
 jection. On this occasion I have met with unbroken 
 
 4 E 5 6 8.0 
 
success, though perhaps somewhat at the cost of spon- 
 taneity, in dividing each sonnet into four parts, within 
 which again there is a minimum of enjambement. So 
 meticulous is Platen's art in these respects that the imita- 
 tion of rhymes and periods is in itself a puzzling task 
 preliminary to all considerations of poetic value. For 
 the rest, traces of the conflict, so familiar to every trans- 
 lator of verse, between faithfulness to the original and 
 the intrinsic merit of the translation will no doubt be 
 found sufficiently evident, but it is at least the right of a 
 translator to demand that his work be in no particular 
 condemned without comparison with the original. 
 
 Orr's Island, Maine. R. B. C. 
 
 *With the exception of a translation of the ninth in Longfellow's 
 Poets and Poetry of Europe and of the eighteenth in Edward Car- 
 penter's Anthology of Friendship. 
 
 i Sonnets from Venice, 1914, and To Cardenlo, 1919. 
 
 I have now translated nearly half of Platen's sonnets, and hope 
 to complete the work in a few years, so that the several series may 
 be issued in a single volume. 
 
Jene Sonette werden nicht untergehen und das 
 Ubermasz von Freundschaft, das ich immer fiir diesen 
 Menschen fuhleh werde, der Nachwelt iiberliefern. 
 
 ' -Platen. 
 
TO KARL THEODOR GERMAN 
 
\Y/HEN shall 1 master this anxiety 
 
 Which seizes me when thou, dear friend, art nigh? 
 1 seek thy presence e^-en as a spy, 
 Hoping yet fearing Vj discover thee. 
 
 How can I fear 'fore one I fain would see 
 Folded in my embrace? ^Oh, tell me why 
 So swift my blood is checked, and what can tie 
 My spirit as with bonds of slavery. 
 
 Is it the dread lest thou thine heart shouldst close, 
 Lest on the crags of thy false pride I steer, 
 Ever avowed the greatest of love's foes? 
 
 Is it the godliness of bonds so dear. 
 Since love, as before God, for ever shows 
 Before its object reverence and fear? 
 
\^OU too deceive me, since where'er I turn 
 
 I know that all defraud me and deceive. 
 You fill my mouth with bitterness, and leave 
 My heart with flames of longing still to burn. 
 
 And that which all save enemies would spurn 
 Must I, a friend's reward, from you receive; 
 Yet I the splendor of thy name achieve, 
 That future ages may thy praises learn. 
 
 But howsoever cold thine heart may grow. 
 Still by my dewy-glistening eyes I swear 
 Thy love I will not even yet forego. 
 
 Spring as her mirror chooses one so fair; 
 
 Youth laughs and sparkles on thy brow, as though 
 
 The sunshine and th* aurora mingled there. 
 
Ill 
 
TTHAT I do have abundant right for scorn 
 
 At such dishonorable injuries 
 I deeply feel, though if my heart should please 
 To enjoy this right, unwilling am I drawn. 
 
 For this I deem the most accursed thorn 
 Which an unkindly fate has thrust in these 
 Our love's still all too young amenities. 
 Dragged to the grave almost so soon as born. 
 
 What for the future can I hope from you, 
 If at the very dawn of our new-found 
 Affection such a bolt strikes from the blue? 
 
 But ah! my right renounces every ground 
 For being, seeing thee so fair to view. 
 And lives in truth only on empty sound. 
 
IV 
 
HTHOUGH in the flesh our steps apart we bend, 
 
 Our spirits still in memory entwine; 
 And when my soul merges itself in thine, 
 My thoughts, I fancy, must thine ear attend. 
 
 Possessed not God Love's wings, how should He lend 
 
 Her guidance on a mission so divine? 
 
 And if thy soul in dreams he grants to mine. 
 
 Of whom save thee could He such visions send? 
 
 If you but love me, gladly will I brook 
 
 Thine absence, since of what our souls complain 
 
 Well know I, though they be by speech forsook. 
 
 And yet while I must still in doubt remain. 
 And long to interrogate thine every look, 
 I count our separation naught but pain. 
 
YOU love and yet are silent. Oh, 'twere best 
 
 I too unspeaking had indulged mine eyes. 
 I had not learnt how silence mortifies, 
 If I had ne'er a word to thee addressed. 
 
 Yet would I not our love be ne'er confessed, 
 And woe the day when it grows cold and dies! 
 For it was sent us from celestial skies, 
 Where throng in amity the angels blest. 
 
 Therefore be this sweet fancy still allowed, 
 That you do love me, lest, all desolate 
 My soul, my faith must perish unavowed. 
 
 Deny me not the day, disdainful Fate, 
 When to a loyal friend a soul so proud 
 Though fair shall every hidden thought relate. 
 
VI 
 
QEEFC you a friend who should to death be true, 
 
 In joy and sorrow ever at thy side, 
 Make choice of me, for one more qualified 
 Thou canst not find to pledge himself to you. 
 
 Truly he cannot spread, as thou canst do. 
 The raptures of his beauty far and wide; 
 But all men hear with unreluctant pride 
 The charms which his inspired lips bestrew. 
 
 I only fear that it may cause thee grief. 
 If I such lofty praise of self allow. 
 So to assume a splendor past belief. 
 
 For else would I declare that even now 
 
 The flickering shadow of a laurel leaf 
 
 Falls on this young and still unwrinkled brow. 
 
vn 
 
CWEET Spring, with hastening steps list my appeal. 
 
 This once come earlier than in former days, 
 A bland physician, when our breast betrays 
 Uneasiness, gently its wounds to heal. 
 
 Might I already midst thy blossoms steal. 
 When scarce on the horizon yet forth blaze 
 The fires of day, until their dying rays 
 Depart, my tears not wishing to conceal. 
 
 When bright thy sun flames in the azure skies, 
 Would I, outstretched, through the tall grasses peep, 
 To view my fancied friend with dcizzled eyes. 
 
 Then o'er my blinking lids should slumbers creep, 
 Until I saw the glittering stars arise. 
 And by his image felt refreshed in sleep. 
 
VIII 
 
A LTHOUGH, my grief in silence to allay, 
 
 Find some propitious place and hour I will, 
 Yet yonder hovers thy fair image still. 
 While nearer objects swiftly fade away. 
 
 Good fellowship my wanderings cannot stay. 
 Yet solitude the sorrowing soul can ill 
 Endure, and thought no respite brings, until, 
 Complaining to the winds, idly I stray. 
 
 If from this pain you wish me ever freed. 
 Oh make thy true affection seen and heard. 
 For 'tis of thee alone my heart hath need. 
 
 Many the friends I loved false to their word ; 
 Yet may the world in these my pages read 
 That thee before all others I preferred. 
 
IX 
 
pAIR as the day and lovely as the dawn, 
 
 With noble brow and eyes of trustful calm. 
 Youthful in years and youthful in thy charm. 
 So found I thee, so were my sorrows bom. 
 
 Oh were I now safe to thy bosom drawn, 
 Where I might ease my soul of all alarm! 
 Oh that I might thine heart of fears disarm 
 Which bid our tryst await another morn! 
 
 Why do you shun me? Do I merit scorn? 
 Why thus afflict one who hath ever shov/n 
 Affection, and why leave me thus forlorn? 
 
 Swift as the bias of thy thoughts is known. 
 With anxious raptures shall my heart be torn, 
 As when a prince ascends the royal throne. 
 
X 
 
'X'HE world is falser than my words can paint, 
 
 And blessed he on whom her glance ne'er fell. 
 She treasures up our sorrows in a shell. 
 And gives us drink therefrom when we are faint 
 
 So may the world, midst many a complaint, 
 From me, her instrument, a song compel. 
 O'er distant times perchance to cast its spell, 
 I as a living sacrifice attaint. 
 
 You who extol my lot, and have believed 
 You well might envy me my happy days, 
 How can you linger so long undeceived? 
 
 Had I not tasted in a thousand ways 
 
 The poison of the world, I had achieved 
 
 No heaven-sent task for you to prize and praise. 
 
XI 
 
THOU hast prepared me hours of grievous dread. 
 
 For which, I pray, may Heaven never wreak 
 Vengeance on thee; else were with tears thy cheek 
 Bedewed, when from thy lips my name is sped. 
 
 Yet until all delusive hopes are fled 
 Before assurance, though it but bespeak 
 Frailty, thy vindication will I seek, 
 Never by chance appearances misled. 
 
 No advocate am I, yet rest assured 
 That my two eyes shall ever intercede 
 For thee, by craft into thy service lured. 
 
 So long as they upon thy beauty feed, 
 
 Love, as their food, therefrom must be procured, 
 
 While you my sorrows in their glances read. 
 
XII 
 
'THE muse of every songster, Admiration, 
 
 Bids me extol the things of highest worth. 
 Artists and scholars, ladies and men of birth 
 I praise, and so pursue my inclination. 
 
 You are the soul of every inspiration. 
 The radiant summit of my course on earth. 
 The central sun my eulogies engirth. 
 Charmed by the giddiness of my rotation. 
 
 And when with trembling words thy love is told. 
 Oh then, my friend, do you confer on me 
 More than my art can give a thousandfold. 
 
 Yet graciously the world hath dealt with thee, 
 For fair in death is he in life extolled 
 By an imperishable melody. 
 
XIII 
 
IF I o'erlook thy coldness without blame, 
 It is because I silently confess: 
 Indeed he knows not how the happiness 
 Of all my days is coupled with his name. 
 
 He knows not how my heart is all aflame 
 With love, what lends to life its sacredness. 
 Who gladly shares his joy and his distress. 
 Nor whence the favors I have granted came. 
 
 All this you know not; shall I therefore tell? 
 Ah no! I scarce dare speak before thy face. 
 Lest I so fortunate a dream dispel. 
 
 For howso'er thy beauty and thy grace 
 
 Do charm, they may but cast a treacherous spell, 
 
 And in thy heart affection have no place. 
 
XIV 
 
CCARCE shall you need to ask the world excuse 
 Thy love for me; 'twere nothing mean or low; 
 And they who scorn the favors I bestow 
 The favor of my friends must likewise lose. 
 
 Many the friends whom I could not refuse, 
 Should I requite the love of all who know 
 Th' entire passion of my heart, even though 
 But distantly, as votaries of my muse. 
 
 For a warm heart, though one which you pursue 
 With poisoned darts envenomed by thy spite, 
 Must ever win itself warm friends and true. 
 
 But thou who feignst to be so harsh — Oh, might 
 
 I only die upon thy breast, and you 
 
 Close these two eyes which you so well delight! 
 
XV 
 
TTOO cruelly you try me. From thy bow 
 
 Shaft upon shaft comes speeding at my breast. 
 You have for me this preference expressed 
 O'er one whom I a soulless body know. 
 
 Yet while thy beauty sets my heart aglow, 
 1 battle with the stormy billows, lest, 
 Angered and by deception oft distressed, 
 On thee some bitter name I might bestow. 
 
 Ah no, beloved! let me not complain. 
 Nor by the dark displeasure of my mind 
 The object worthiest of my love profane. 
 
 If to my friendship you were ever blind. 
 
 Mine was the fault, for trully it were vain 
 
 That hands be joined which know not how to bind. 
 
XVI 
 
T^HEY call me proud, and yet that I should be 
 
 Unpleasing to thee — this doth ne'er annoy; 
 For thy blond youthfulness disdains, dear boy, 
 To keep such melancholy company. 
 
 I will indulge in jest and drollery, 
 
 Rather than seek in tears alone my joy. 
 
 And will in prayers to Heaven the hours employ 
 
 For th* unwonted gift of gaiety. 
 
 Truly for much I thank the kindly fate 
 Whose gifts beyond what I deserve abound. 
 Though I have none which might ingratiate. 
 
 But who can give me back the cheeks so round 
 And all the bloom of early youth's estate. 
 Wherein alone is human beauty found? 
 
XVII 
 
TF those who envy us with craft combine, 
 So to embarrass us and to divide. 
 Still do I count thee not one to whom pride 
 Forbids a passage twixt thy glance and mine. 
 
 Yet all too oft for sight of thee I pine, 
 And though my eyes hold sway on every side, 
 The loveliest form can never be descried, 
 Never the loveliest features, namely thine. 
 
 Only take heart, nor, timorous, let the rein 
 Of love fall into Envy's hands, who would 
 So dearly that we severed still remain. 
 
 Be but thyself, and soon this period 
 
 Of grief shall pass, and soon our dreams attain 
 
 Realization. We deserve they should. 
 
XVIII 
 
J IKE the bright stars I would that when I die 
 Swift and unconsciously I might grow pale. 
 And might, like Pindar, even as runs the tale. 
 Succumb when some day Death is passing by. 
 
 Ever in life and in my verse must I 
 
 To his incomparable greatness fail 
 
 To attain, yet might, my friend, should death assail. 
 
 Resemble him. Now, therefore, hark you why. 
 
 Moved by the singing, he had watched the play. 
 And in the theater with his cheek upon 
 His favorite's comely knee weary he lay. 
 
 And when the music ended, and anon 
 
 He who so gently nursed him would essay 
 
 To rouse him, he to the gods had homeward gone. 
 
XIX 
 
T OVE seems the tenderest impulse, and so must 
 
 Even the blind, even the deaf conceive; 
 Yet I am certain of what few believe, 
 That tenderer is a friend's unfeigned trust. 
 
 For love will ever pant with fiery lust, 
 Itself consuming, itself to inweave; 
 But nothing can me of my friend bereave. 
 Till I myself vanish in airy dust. 
 
 He shows me only coldness and ill-will, 
 Mocks me, and long has ceased to understand; 
 Yet have I never thought to speak him ill. 
 
 Ne'er shall he hold and press in his my hand; 
 
 But I will praise him yet anew, for still 
 
 That which we praise our spirit must command. 
 
XX 
 
r^ Death, so sweet and yet so feared by all, 
 
 I pay you only homage. Oft have I 
 Sought after thee, and oh how ardently 
 Longed for thy slumber, whence naught shall recall. 
 
 You sleepers, covered by an earthen pall. 
 And hushed by an eternal lullaby. 
 Have you not drained life's cup right merrily? 
 To me alone perhaps it tastes like gall. 
 
 You too, I fear me, has the world decoyed. 
 Your worthiest achievements likewise made 
 Of no account, your dearest hopes destroyed. 
 
 Blest therefore all who greet death undismayed, 
 Their supplications heard, their longings void. 
 For every heart at last falls 'neath the spade. 
 
XXI 
 
QTILL the last dregs are not to be denied, 
 
 Drained from the cup of grief which you outpour. 
 Oh, were I but again the child of yore. 
 By flowing tears so quickly molified ! 
 
 Since they have thrust me roughly from their side 
 To whom immeasurable love I bore, 
 Confidence fades, and bitter chill creeps o'er 
 My heart, where love and hope no more abide. 
 
 Oh fortunate were I to flee afar 
 
 To distant regions, on some foreign strand 
 
 To breathe 'neath a more favorable star. 
 
 But where, the last ties severed, hatred and 
 Ingratitude sincere love's guerdon are, 
 How weary am I of my native land ! 
 
XXII 
 
L- [OW shall 1 still mankind's goodwill retrieve. 
 Since there is no one who can comfort me ? 
 Let me be wholly plunged in misery, 
 To weep in silence and in silence grieve. 
 
 No longer am I worthy of reprieve, 
 Since I have perished in his memory; 
 And in these joints which ache so wearily 
 The seeds of dissolution I perceive. 
 
 But O ye Heavenly Powers, to him allow 
 Entire happiness. Do not deny 
 Whatever wishes his heart may avow. 
 
 Never again my glance shall meet his eye; 
 The form of one he hates no longer now, 
 Alas! even in his dreams, shall he espy. 
 
XXIII 
 
"VY/HILE here I revel in the open air, 
 
 I call to me each almost soulless thing. 
 You butterflies, you birds upon the wing, 
 Oh come! Fear naught, but trust my loving care. 
 
 That I should strew for thee a treacherous fare, 
 Believe it not! For I, now squandering 
 My days afar from men, of whom they bring 
 A greater fear than thine — I lay no snare. 
 
 Oh count me not among that brutal horde, 
 Me, who ne'er sought another's injury. 
 Ever the scorn of men my sole reward. 
 
 Therefore from all their pathways let us flee. 
 You they would catch and kill; with one accord 
 Me they have laden with their misery. 
 
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