So a god has snatched from me my all 
In the curse and rack of Destiny. 

All his worlds are gone beyond recall! 
Nothing but revenge is left to me! 


On myself revenge I'll proudly wreak, 
On that being, that enthroned Lord, 
Make my strength a patchwork of what’s weak, 
Leave my better self without reward! 


564 


Karl Marx 


I shall build my throne high overhead, 
Cold, tremendous shall its summit be. 
For its bulwark — superstitious dread, 
For its Marshall—blackest agony. 


Who looks on it with a healthy eye, 

Shall turn back, struck deathly pale and dumb; 
Clutched by blind and chill Mortality, 

May his happiness prepare its tomb. 


And the Almighty’s lightning shall rebound 
From that massive iron giant. 

If he bring my walls and towers down, 
Eternity shall raise them up, defiant. 


THREE LITTLE LIGHTS 


Three distant lights gleam quietly, 
They shine like starry eyes to see. 
The storm may rage, the wind may shout, 
The little lights are not blown out. 


One sweetly struggles ever higher, 
Trembling to Heaven it would aspire. 
It blinks its eye so trustingly, 

As if the All-Father it could see. 


The other looks down on Earth’s halls, 
And hears the echoing victory calls, 
Turns to its sisters in the sky, 

Inspired with silent prophecy. 


The last one burns with golden fire, 

The flames shoot forth, it sinks entire, 
The waves plunge in its heart and— see! — 
Swell up into a flowering tree. 


Then three small lights gleam quietly 

In turn, like starry eyes to see. 

The storm may rage, the wind may blow, 
Two souls in one are happy now. 


Early Literary Experiments 


THE MAN IN THE MOON 


See, breathed upon by starlight’s glance, 
Swift up and down a-hopping, 

The Man in the Moon beats out his dance, 
His lively limbs a-bobbing. 


Soft weeping dew of Heaven shines 
Tangled in curly hair, 

Then trickles down on to the plains 
Till blossoms tinkle there. 


And now it sparkles, sprouts apace 
In flakelets gold and pale. 

The flowerbells tell the earthly place 
The Moonman’s grievous tale. 


He waves in such a friendly way 
But deep his sorrows smart. 

He would be with the sinking ray, 
Lean to the Sun’s full heart. 


He’s tarried long, he’s listened long 
To hear the rising spheres. 

He pines, he yearns to be a song, 
To thaw in dancing flowers. 


Earth’s glade is covered with his pain 
Till field and meadow ring; 

Rapt with his own sweet shine, he then 
Beats, reconciled, his wings.