Cover your heaven, Zeus,
And like a boy
Beheading thistles
Practice on oaks and mountain peaks-
Still you must leave
My earth intact
And my small hovel, which you did not
build,
And this my hearth
Whose glowing heat
You envy me.
I know of nothing more wretched
Under the sun than you gods!
Meagerly you nourish
Your majesty
on dues of sacrifice
And breadth of prayer
And would suffer want
But for children and beggars,
poor hopeful fools.
Once too, a child,
Not knowing where to turn,
I raised bewildered eyes
Up to the sun, as if above there were
An ear to hear my complaint,
A heart like mine
To take pity on the oppressed.
Who helped me
Against the Titans' arrogance?
Who rescued me from death,
from slavery?
Did not my holy and glowing heart,
Unaided, accomplish all?
And did it not, young and good,
Cheated, glow thankfulness
For its safety to him, to the sleeper
above?
I pay homage to you? For what?
Have you ever assuaged
the frightened man's tears?
Was it not omnipotent time
That forged me into manhood,
And eternal fate,
My masters and yours?
Or did you think perhaps
That I should hate this life,
Flee into deserts
Because not all
the blossoms of dream grew ripe?
Here I sit, forming men
in my image,
A race to resemble me:
To suffer, to weep,
To enjoy, to be glad-
and never to heed you,
like me!
Goethe
1773
