Top 11 Best Famous Hermann Hesse Poems of All Time

Hermann Hesse Poems
Hermann Hesse

Top 11 Best Famous Hermann Hesse Poems of All Time | Enjoy & Share with your Friends

Without You - Poem by Hermann Hesse

My Pillow gazes upon me at night

Empty as a gravestone;

I never thought it would be so bitter

To be alone,

Not to lie down asleep in your hair.

 

I lie alone in a silent house,

The hanging lamp darkened,

And gently stretch out my hands

To gather in yours,

And softly press my warm mouth

Toward you, and kiss myself, exhausted and weak-

Then suddenly I'm awake

And all around me the cold night grows still.

The star in the window shines clearly-

Where is your blond hair,

Where your sweet mouth?

 

Now I drink pain in every delight

And poison in every wine;

I never knew it would be so bitter

To be alone,

Alone, without you.

 

 

On A Journey - Poem by Hermann Hesse

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.

 

 

Thinking Of A Friend At Night - Poem by Hermann Hesse

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.

 

 

At Night On The High Seas - Poem by Hermann Hesse

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.

 

 

The Poet - Poem by Hermann Hesse

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.

 

 

Lying In Grass - Poem by Hermann Hesse

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.

 

 

How Heavy The Days - Poem by Hermann Hesse

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.

 

 

Lonesome Night - Poem by Hermann Hesse

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.

 

 

I Know, You Walk-- - Poem by Hermann Hesse

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.

 

 

Stages - Poem by Hermann Hesse

As every flower fades and as all youth

Departs, so life at every stage,

So every virtue, so our grasp of truth,

Blooms in its day and may not last forever.

Since life may summon us at every age

Be ready, heart, for parting, new endeavor,

Be ready bravely and without remorse

To find new light that old ties cannot give.

In all beginnings dwells a magic force

For guarding us and helping us to live.

Serenely let us move to distant places

And let no sentiments of home detain us.

 

The Cosmic Spirit seeks not to restrain us

But lifts us stage by stage to wider spaces.

If we accept a home of our own making,

Familiar habit makes for indolence.

We must prepare for parting and leave-taking

Or else remain the slave of permanence.

Even the hour of our death may send

Us speeding on to fresh and newer spaces,

And life may summon us to newer races.

So be it, heart: bid farewell without end.

 

 

A Swarm Of Gnats - Poem by Hermann Hesse

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.

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