Goethe, "Der Erlkönig"

One of the most famous of all German poems ("The Erlking"), based on Scandinavian legend, and the work of this polymath.  You can read the original here.

Who rides so late through wind and night?
The father with his child held tight.
Embracing boy and steed as one,
His courage burned like warmest sun.

"My Son, what fear makes scarce your face?"
"O Father, 'tis the Erlking's trace!
His crown and robe cascade and teem-"
"My Son, 'tis but a mist-spun dream!"

"My dearest, come along with me!
What games we'll play!  What sights we'll see!
As roses bright adorn the shore,
So mother walks in gold decor."

"O Father, Father, hear you soft
What Erlking whispers from his toft?" –
"Be still, my child, be still and hear
The rustling wind in dry leaves near."

"To you, fine lad, should you come now,
My daughters will in duty bow.
In nightly dance they will you lead,
And rock and sing until you sleep."

"O Father, Father, see you not
The Erlking's coven in dark spot?" –
"My Son, my Son, I see it sure:
Yon willow trees in grey demure."

"Your shape does but my love provoke;
Resistance will brute force uncloak." –
"O Father, Father, wait no more!
The Erlking's come and made me sore!"

The father's twitch slows not his pace
As groaning child still hides his face.
With pain and fear he gains the stead,
But in his arms the child was dead.

Goethe, "Natur und Kunst"

One of the greatest poems ever written ("Nature and Art"), the work of this German man of letters. Especially famous is the penultimate line, a favorite quote of this writer.  You can read the original here.

Nature and Art, from one another fled,     
Are, ere one knows, again in closest tie;  
Aversion, too, from me has soon been bled,              
And equal force attracts me to their side.            

And yet, one honest effort will suffice! 
And when in measured hours ourselves we bind              
To art, at zeal and fervor's glorious price,   
Anew may nature's glow our hearts then find.  

All learning asks for such tuition paid;           
In vain will strive those minds unbound, unmet,                       
To reach at last some marveled heights unseen.   

Thus great things come to those whose will is made,
We know the Master by his limits set, 
For this one law can only make us free.

Goethe, "Scharade"

A work ("Charade") by this German man of letters.  You can read the original here.

Two words, so comfortable are they, so brief,  
Which we oft utter with becharm'd delight, 
Without real knowledge of these things in sight,  
Things which indeed convey the stamp's relief. 

It does us good in morn and sunset's light, 
To sear them brashly on each other's grief;
And if they can conjoin then as one sheaf,
This we express by single blessing bright.

Yet now I seek to please these two in kind,
And so content myself with my own breath; 
And still in hopes of gaining this I might: 

Then garble them as lovers' names entwined, 
Beholding both within a single sketch, 
Subsuming both within a single wight.

Goethe, "Abschied"

A work ("Farewell") by this German man of letters.  You can read the original here.

Unsated, I a thousand kisses nurse; 
Upon the thousandth and one must we part.
O deepest pain, O separation's curse, 
'Twas this dark shore from which I rent my heart.

Blue mountains, hillocks, rivers, huts behold!
Horizons stretch in joy, a treasure pure; 
For my eyes then a feast remained too sure: 
Let darkness clear and distant truth unfold.

At length, as seas our vista ring and close, 
Most warm desire retakes my wretched heart; 
And, peevish, I anew seek what I lost. 

As if the heavens shone, yet at no cost 
To me, for missed I would have not one part, 
As if all once enjoyed again arose.  

Goethe, "Nähe des Geliebten"

A work ("The lover's closeness") by this German man of letters.  You can read the original here.

Of you I think beneath the sun's sweet wrath 
On sea-kissed rays; 
Of you I think as moonlight paints its path
In brightest maze.  

'Tis you I see upon the dust-blurred road,
That distant shape;
When in deep night, upon a bridge's folds,
A wand'rer shakes.

'Tis you I hear as softest rustles jut   
In rising wave;
When in still copse I listen and find but
A silent grave.

However far, my soul you still have grazed –
To me so near!  
The sinking sun retreats as starlight stays –
Were you but here!