The Modest Little Wish - Carl Spitteler

In the days when I was little

   had they asked me what I wanted,

What I'd wish for first if wishes

   ever could be really granted,

As the thought of such abundance

   I should long have hesitated,

Picture-books, paint-boxes, soldiers -

   between these have vacillated.

But grown older, plans were bolder;

   I had made my proud election

- Fame as hero, fame as victor,

   worlds o'erthrown for resurrection;

Or as a artist crowned with laurel,

   lord of some domain entrancing,

Magic trees around me blossoming,

   and lovely ladies glancing.

Nowadays, if hope grown weary

   in the wishing-game persisted,

Though I blushed to think the childish,

   foolish longing still existed,

I would ask to hear the old way

   bells would sound when lying lonely

Half-asleep, a little fellow. . .

   I would ask to hear that only.

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Carl Spitteler (1845 — 1924) Switzerland

Translated by Ethel Colburn Mayne

Source: Ross' Columns (taken from Selected Poems translated by Ethel Colburn Mayne and James F. Muirhead)