The HyperTexts

David B. Gosselin

David Bellemare Gosselin is a student of classics and languages based in Montreal. He speaks five languages, including Arabic and Italian. His poems, translations, and essays can be read on, where he publishes and promotes 21st century classical poetry along with his translations of Dante, Schiller, Goethe, et al.

Wanderer’s Night Song II
by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
translation by David B. Gosselin

Over the hilltops
Is quietness,
And in the treetops
There's hardly a sigh;
The birds are soundless in the forest.
With patience abide―
You too will rest.

Through the fields of solitude
by Hermann Allmers
translation by David B. Gosselin with Michael R. Burch

Peacefully, I rest in the tall green grass
For a long time only gazing as I lie,
Caught in the endless hymn of crickets,
And encircled by a wonderful blue sky.

And the lovely white clouds floating across
The depths of the heavens are like silky lace;
I feel as though I have long been dead,
Softly drifting with them through eternal space.

In the beautiful month of May
by Heinrich Heine
translation by David B. Gosselin

In the beautiful month of May
When the flowers began springing
Within my youthful heart
Love suddenly bloomed.

In the beautiful month of May
When all the birds were singing
I confessed to her
My yearning and my longing.

Death is the cooling night
by Heinrich Heine
translation by David B. Gosselin

Death is the cooling night,
Life is the sultry day.
But now darkness settles
And I long for respite.

Outside my bedroom window looms a tree;
In it sings the young Nightingale.
She sings only of Love―
Even in dreams, it reaches me.

Lilacs in the Rain
by David B. Gosselin

I find myself once again in the garden
Where I used to play as a child
When a thousand flowery faces would greet me,
All of them lovely and wild.

The lavender would serenely sway,
Bequeathing her fragrance to the air,
Until gentle winds swept it away
Like a child laughing, free of care.

Dew would star the rose’s delicate calyx,
Staining its crown of verdant sepals,
Till May arrived with her brilliant rains
And spring appeared in a thousand petals.

But of all the flowery faces there
These stood out more than any others:
The spring Lilacs – dancing in a gentle breeze
Like a host of frolicking lovers.

Their fragrant offerings tempted me
As I’ve never been tempted again,
And I felt something I'd never felt before
Amid those Lilacs in the rain.

For the soft spring-time showers distilled
To an understanding that left me cold:
How even the sweetest things must die
As we grow old.

And so I wept on that beautiful morning,
My tears falling through the perfumed air,
At the faces of friends who welcomed me
With the larks' songs ringing everywhere.

May the beauties of May greet me again!
May they flood my soul with a precious pain—
May the briefness of their beauty haunt me
Like those Lilacs in the rain.

Chinese Mountain Man: The Night Sky
by David B. Gosselin

Trekking among the steep defiles,
Trailed by the sage, a young boy tried
To use the stars, in hopes
Of finding some path or some guide
To help him climb the rocky slopes.

They walked among a sea of fog
Which stalked them now for many nights
And left them wandering like ghosts
Amid the unfamiliar heights—
Without a guide or friendly hosts.

The sage walked slowly, patiently,
He held his head low, and seldom raised
His gaze to watch the stars or moon.
Hidden beneath his hood, lonesome,
The boy asked, “Will we be there soon?”

Who knows how long those travellers
Had wandered through that craggy world;
How many caves and grots and chasms
Crossed as the haunting shadows whirled—
How many unearthly phantasms?

“Let’s keep the pace,” the master said
While looking down and walking straight
Ahead without making a sound.
Although the master kept his pace,
The weary pupil soon slowed down.

He stopped and turned towards the sky,
Hoping to find some lucky star.
Walking amid the starry chorus,
The cowled sage paused, removed his hood,
Then gazed, “Sometimes the stars find us.”

Follow the Mountain Man series here.

Nacht und Traume (Night and Dreams)
by Matthäus von Collin (1779-1824)
translation by David B. Gosselin

Holy night, descending softly,
Descending, too, are our dreams,
Like moonlight through a darkened room,
Through the depths of a man's breast.
He listens with elation;
When Night starts to fade, he cries:
Come back, holy night,
Return, sweetest dreams, return!

Translation © David B. Gosselin

Listen to Schubert’s musical setting of this poem here.

by Matthäus von Collin (1779-1824)

Heil’ge Nacht, du sinkest nieder;
Nieder wallen auch die Träume,
Wie dein Mondlicht durch die Räume,
Durch der Menschen stille Brust.
Die belauschen sie mit Lust;
Rufen, wenn der Tag erwacht:
Kehre wieder, heil’ge Nacht!
Holde Träume, kehret wieder!

Regenlied (The Rain Song)
by Klaus Groth (1819-1899)
translation by David B. Gosselin

Fall rain, fall upon this old world,
And wake deep inside me the dreams
That I dreamt when I was a child,
When rain would wet the golden sand.

When the sultry summer breezes
Frolicked through the evening coolness
And the morning's dewy leaves thawed,
When the crops shone a darker blue.

What a joy to stand in the rain
With our bare and naked feet,
To reach down into the wet grass
And touch the fresh foam with one's hand.

Or to feel the cool descending
Showers as they greet our warm cheeks;
To bear our youth's bosom once more
As sweet perfume fills the soft air.

Like the rose's calyx trickling
With rain, my soul respires;
Like the flowers drunk with fragrance,
Drowning in the heavenly dew.

I would love to hear it once more—
The sound of the soft rain pattering
As my soul is graciously bedewed
With a holy child-like awe.

Translation © David B. Gosselin

Listen to Brahms’ musical setting of this poem here.

by Klaus Groth (1819-1899)

Walle, Regen, walle nieder,
Wecke mir die Träume wieder,
Die ich in der Kindheit träumte,
Wenn das Naß im Sande schäumte!

Wenn die matte Sommerschwüle
Lässig stritt mit frischer Kühle,
Und die blanken Blätter tauten,
Und die Saaten dunkler blauten.

Welche Wonne, in dem Fließen
Dann zu stehn mit nackten Füßen,
An dem Grase hin zu streifen
Und den Schaum mit Händen greifen.

Oder mit den heißen Wangen Kalte
Tropfen aufzufangen,
Und den neuerwachten
Düften Seine Kinderbrust zu lüften!

Wie die Kelche, die da troffen,
Stand die Seele atmend offen,
Wie die Blumen, düftetrunken,
In dem Himmelstau versunken.

Schauernd kühlte jeder Tropfen
Tief bis an des Herzens Klopfen,
Und der Schöpfung heilig
Weben Drang bis ins verborgne Leben.

Walle, Regen, walle nieder,
Wecke meine alten Lieder,
Die wir in der Türe sangen,
Wenn die Tropfen draußen klangen!

Möchte ihnen wieder lauschen,
Ihrem süßen, feuchten Rauschen,
Meine Seele sanft betauen
Mit dem frommen Kindergrauen.

Immer Leise Wird Mein Schlummer
by Hermann Lingg

My sleep grows ever more gentle,
Only my sorrow, like a veil,
Trembles over me.
I hear you often in my dreams,
Standing at my door, calling me –
But no one answers, it seems.
I wake up and weep bitterly.

Death begins to rear his pale head;
You’ll kiss again when I'm long dead,
And safe in my tomb.
Before the May wind returns,
Before warblers call the moon,
If your heart for my kiss yearns,
Come, oh come soon.

Translation © David B. Gosselin

Listen to Brahms’ musical setting of this poem here.

Immer leise wird mein Schlummer
by Hermann Lingg
translation by David B. Gosselin

Immer leiser wird mein Schlummer,
Nur wie Schleier liegt mein Kummer
Zitternd über mir.
Oft im Traume hör' ich dich
Rufen drauß vor meiner Tür:
Niemand wacht und öffnet dir,
Ich erwach' und weine bitterlich.

Ja, ich werde sterben müssen,
Eine Andre wirst du küssen,
Wenn ich bleich und kalt.
Eh' die Maienlüfte wehn,
Eh' die Drossel singt im Wald:
Willst du mich noch einmal sehn,
Komm, o komme bald!

Im Fruhling (In Spring)
by Ernst Schulze
translation by David B. Gosselin

I sit here lonely on a hill
Where skies are clear and blue;
The sunset casts a glowing veil
Over the deep and tranquil dale—
I used to love this view.

I walked with my beloved there,
She was so close, so dear.
I saw within the mountain streams,
In sky and clouds, like passing dreams,
Her face so crystal clear.

And see, how spring already shines
From each young bud and bloom!
Though each is not the same to me.
The branch she plucked so gracefully
Would be the one I’d choose.

So all is as it was before,
Each bud and flowery scene.
The sun is just as bright today
And just as peacefully, the sky
Appears within the stream.

Illusions and our will must change,
Our luck can fade tomorrow;
The joy of love will one day fly
But still our true love cannot die—
Our love, alas, and sorrow.

If only I could be a bird,
Perched and sharing my song.
I’d settle there so quietly
And sing for her a melody
That lasts all summer long.

Translation © David B. Gosselin

Listen to Schubert’s musical setting of this poem here.

by Ernst Schulze

Still sitz ich an des Hügels Hang,
Der Himmel ist so klar,
Das Lüftchen spielt im grünen Tal,
Wo ich beim ersten Frühlingsstrahl
Einst, ach, so glücklich war.

Wo ich an ihrer Seite ging
So traulich und so nah,
Und tief im dunkeln Felsenquell
Den schönen Himmel blau und hell,
Und sie im Himmel sah.

Sieh, wie der bunte Frühling schon
Aus Knosp’ und Blüte blickt!
Nicht alle Blüten sind mir gleich,
Am liebsten pflückt’ ich von dem Zweig,
Von welchem sie gepflückt.

Denn alles ist wie damals noch,
Die Blumen, das Gefild;
Die Sonne scheint nicht minder hell,
Nicht minder freundlich schwimmt im Quell
Das blaue Himmelsbild.

Es wandeln nur sich Will und Wahn,
Es wechseln Lust und Streit,
Vorüber flieht der Liebe Glück,
Und nur die Liebe bleibt zurück,
Die Lieb’ und ach, das Leid!

O wär ich doch ein Vöglein nur
Dort an dem Wiesenhang!
Dann blieb’ ich auf den Zweigen hier,
Und säng ein süsses Lied von ihr,
Den ganzen Sommer lang.

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