Who rides there so late through the night dark and drear?
The father it is, with his infant so dear;
He holdeth the boy tightly clasp'd in his arm,
He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm. …
The father now gallops, with terror half wild,
He grasps in his arms the poor shuddering child;
He reaches his courtyard with toil and with dread,
The child in his arms finds he motionless, dead.
THE PAINTING:
Arnold Böcklin - The Moonlit Landscape with Ruin (1849)
THE POEM:
Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe - Erlkönig (1782)
No comments:
Post a Comment