Early Works of Karl Marx: Book of Verse
Know you that magic image sweet
When souls into each other go,
And then in one soft breath outflow,
Melodious, loving, mild, replete?
They flame up in one rose-bloom, blushing red,
And coyly hide deep in some mossy bed.
Roam far and wide throughout the land,
The magic image you'll not find
That talisman can never bind,
Nor sun's fierce rays portend.
The light of no sun ever gave it birth,
It never knew the nourishment of Earth.
Ever resplendent there it stays,
Though Time its rapid pinions beats,
Though bright Apollo guides his steeds,
Though worlds fade into nothingness.
Alone its own true power did it create
That neither world nor God can dominate.
Perhaps 'tis like the Cithern sounding,
As played on one eternal Lyre,
In endless glow, in endless fire,
In yearning's lofty urge resounding.
Once hear within yourself those strings that play
Your steps to wander shall not further stray.