A Poem

The Modest Little Wish
from Selected Poems
of Carl Spitteler
(Carl Spitteler is winner of the 1919 Nobel Prize for Literature)

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,
At the thought of such abundance
I should long have hesitated,
Picture-books, painted-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 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.