Prometheus

 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