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Best Famous Hermann Hesse Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Hermann Hesse poems. This is a select list of the best famous Hermann Hesse poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Hermann Hesse poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Hermann Hesse poems.

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by Hermann Hesse |

The Poet

 Only on me, the lonely one,
The unending stars of the night shine,
The stone fountain whispers its magic song,
To me alone, to me the lonely one
The colorful shadows of the wandering clouds
Move like dreams over the open countryside.
Neither house nor farmland, Neither forest nor hunting privilege is given to me, What is mine belongs to no one, The plunging brook behind the veil of the woods, The frightening sea, The bird whir of children at play, The weeping and singing, lonely in the evening, of a man secretly in love.
The temples of the gods are mine also, and mine the aristocratic groves of the past.
And no less, the luminous Vault of heaven in the future is my home: Often in full flight of longing my soul storms upward, To gaze on the future of blessed men, Love, overcoming the law, love from people to people.
I find them all again, nobly transformed: Farmer, king, tradesman, busy sailors, Shepherd and gardener, all of them Gratefully celebrate the festival of the future world.
Only the poet is missing, The lonely one who looks on, The bearer of human longing, the pale image Of whom the future, the fulfillment of the world Has no further need.
Many garlands Wilt on his grave, But no one remembers him.


by Hermann Hesse |

A Swarm Of Gnats

 Many thousand glittering motes
Crowd forward greedily together
In trembling circles.
Extravagantly carousing away For a whole hour rapidly vanishing, They rave, delirious, a shrill whir, Shivering with joy against death.
While kingdoms, sunk into ruin, Whose thrones, heavy with gold, instantly scattered Into night and legend, without leaving a trace, Have never known so fierce a dancing.


by Hermann Hesse |

At Night On The High Seas

 At night, when the sea cradles me
And the pale star gleam
Lies down on its broad waves,
Then I free myself wholly
From all activity and all the love
And stand silent and breathe purely,
Alone, alone cradled by the sea
That lies there, cold and silent, with a thousand lights.
Then I have to think of my friends And my gaze sinks into their gazes And I ask each one, silent, alone: "Are you still mine" Is my sorrow a sorrow to you, my death a death? Do you feel from my love, my grief, Just a breath, just an echo?" And the sea peacefully gazes back, silent, And smiles: no.
And no greeting and now answer comes from anywhere.


by Hermann Hesse |

Thinking Of A Friend At Night

 In this evil year, autumn comes early.
.
.
I walk by night in the field, alone, the rain clatters, The wind on my hat.
.
.
And you? And you, my friend? You are standing--maybe--and seeing the sickle moon Move in a small arc over the forests And bivouac fire, red in the black valley.
You are lying--maybe--in a straw field and sleeping And dew falls cold on your forehead and battle jacket.
It's possible tonight you're on horseback, The farthest outpost, peering along, with a gun in your fist, Smiling, whispering, to your exhausted horse.
Maybe--I keep imagining--you are spending the night As a guest in a strange castle with a park And writing a letter by candlelight, and tapping On the piano keys by the window, Groping for a sound.
.
.
--And maybe You are already silent, already dead, and the day Will shine no longer into your beloved Serious eyes, and your beloved brown hand hangs wilted, And your white forehead split open--Oh, if only, If only, just once, that last day, I had shown you, told you Something of my love, that was too timid to speak! But you know me, you know.
.
.
and, smiling, you nod Tonight in front of your strange castle, And you nod to your horse in the drenched forest, And you nod to your sleep to your harsh clutter of straw, And think about me, and smile.
And maybe, Maybe some day you will come back from the war, and take a walk with me some evening, And somebody will talk about Longwy, Luttich, Dammerkirch, And smile gravely, and everything will be as before, And no one will speak a word of his worry, Of his worry and tenderness by night in the field, Of his love.
And with a single joke You will frighten away the worry, the war, the uneasy nights, The summer lightning of shy human friendship, Into the cool past that will never come back.


by Hermann Hesse |

I Know You Walk--

 I walk so often, late, along the streets,
Lower my gaze, and hurry, full of dread,
Suddenly, silently, you still might rise
And I would have to gaze on all your grief
With my own eyes,
While you demand your happiness, that's dead.
I know, you walk beyond me, every night, With a coy footfall, in a wretched dress And walk for money, looking miserable! Your shoes gather God knows what ugly mess, The wind plays in your hair with lewd delight--- You walk, and walk, and find no home at all.


by Hermann Hesse |

Lying In Grass

 Is this everything now, the quick delusions of flowers,
And the down colors of the bright summer meadow,
The soft blue spread of heaven, the bees' song,
Is this everything only a god's
Groaning dream,
The cry of unconscious powers for deliverance?
The distant line of the mountain,
That beautifully and courageously rests in the blue,
Is this too only a convulsion,
Only the wild strain of fermenting nature,
Only grief, only agony, only meaningless fumbling,
Never resting, never a blessed movement?
No! Leave me alone, you impure dream
Of the world in suffering!
The dance of tiny insects cradles you in an evening radiance,
The bird's cry cradles you,
A breath of wind cools my forehead
With consolation.
Leave me alone, you unendurably old human grief! Let it all be pain.
Let it all be suffering, let it be wretched- But not this one sweet hour in the summer, And not the fragrance of the red clover, And not the deep tender pleasure In my soul.


by Hermann Hesse |

How Heavy The Days

 How heavy the days are.
There's not a fire that can warm me, Not a sun to laugh with me, Everything bare, Everything cold and merciless, And even the beloved, clear Stars look desolately down, Since I learned in my heart that Love can die.


by Hermann Hesse |

The Poet

 O hour of my muse: why do you leave me,
Wounding me by the wingbeats of your flight?
Alone: what shall I use my mouth to utter?

How shall I pass my days? And how my nights?

I have no one to love.
I have no home.
There is no center to sustain my life.
All things to which I give myself grow rich and leave me spent, impoverished, alone.


by Hermann Hesse |

On A Journey

 Don't be downcast, soon the night will come,
When we can see the cool moon laughing in secret
Over the faint countryside,
And we rest, hand in hand.
Don't be downcast, the time will soon come When we can have rest.
Our small crosses will stand On the bright edge of the road together, And rain fall, and snow fall, And the winds come and go.


by Hermann Hesse |

Lonesome Night

 You brothers, who are mine,
Poor people, near and far,
Longing for every star,
Dream of relief from pain,
You, stumbling dumb
At night, as pale stars break,
Lift your thin hands for some
Hope, and suffer, and wake,
Poor muddling commonplace,
You sailors who must live
Unstarred by hopelessness,
We share a single face.
Give me my welcome back.