Analysis of Lily's Menagerie
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 1749 (Frankfurt) – 1832 (Weimar)
THERE'S no menagerie, I vow,
Excels my Lily's at this minute;
She keeps the strangest creatures in it,
And catches them, she knows not how.
Oh, how they hop, and run, and rave,
And their clipp'd pinions wildly wave,--
Poor princes, who must all endure
The pangs of love that nought can cure.
What is the fairy's name?--Is't Lily?--Ask not me!
Give thanks to Heaven if she's unknown to thee.
Oh what a cackling, what a shrieking,
When near the door she takes her stand,
With her food-basket in her hand!
Oh what a croaking, what a squeaking!
Alive all the trees and the bushes appear,
While to her feet whole troops draw near;
The very fish within, the water clear
Splash with impatience and their heads protrude;
And then she throws around the food
With such a look!--the very gods delighting
(To say nought of beasts). There begins, then, a biting,
A picking, a pecking, a sipping,
And each o'er the legs of another is tripping,
And pushing, and pressing, and flapping,
And chasing, and fuming, and snapping,
And all for one small piece of bread,
To which, though dry, her fair hands give a taste,
As though it in ambrosia had been plac'd.
And then her look! the tone
With which she calls: Pipi! Pipi!
Would draw Jove's eagle from his throne;
Yes, Venus' turtle doves, I wean,
And the vain peacock e'en,
Would come, I swear,
Soon as that tone had reach'd them through the air.
E'en from a forest dark had she
Enticed a bear, unlick'd, ill-bred,
And, by her wiles alluring, led
To join the gentle company,
Until as tame as they was he:
(Up to a certain point, be't understood!)
How fair, and, ah, how good
She seem'd to be! I would have drain'd my blood
To water e'en her flow'rets sweet.
"Thou sayest: I! Who? How? And where?"--
Well, to be plain, good Sirs--I am the bear;
In a net-apron, caught, alas!
Chain'd by a silk-thread at her feet.
But how this wonder came to pass
I'll tell some day, if ye are curious;
Just now, my temper's much too furious.
Ah, when I'm in the corner plac'd,
And hear afar the creatures snapping,
And see the flipping and the flapping,
I turn around
With growling sound,
And backward run a step in haste,
And look around
With growling sound.
Then run again a step in haste,
And to my former post go round.
But suddenly my anger grows,
A mighty spirit fills my nose,
My inward feelings all revolt.
A creature such as thou! a dolt!
Pipi, a squirrel able nuts to crack!
I bristle up my shaggy back
Unused a slave to be.
I'm laughed at by each trim and upstart tree
To scorn. The bowling-green I fly,
With neatly-mown and well-kept grass:
The box makes faces as I pass,--
Into the darkest thicket hasten I,
Hoping to 'scape from the ring,
Over the palings to spring!
Vainly I leap and climb;
I feel a leaden spell.
That pinions me as well,
And when I'm fully wearied out in time,
I lay me down beside some mock-cascade,
And roll myself half dead, and foam, and cry,
And, ah! no Oreads hear my sigh,
Excepting those of china made!
But, ah, with sudden power
In all my members blissful feelings reign!
'Tis she who singeth yonder in her bower!
I hear that darling, darling voice again.
The air is warm, and teems with fragrance clear,
Sings she perchance for me alone to hear?
I haste, and trample down the shrubs amain;
The trees make way, the bushes all retreat,
And so--the beast is lying at her feet.
She looks at him: "The monster's droll enough!
He's, for a bear, too mild,
Yet, for a dog, too wild,
So shaggy, clumsy, rough!"
Upon his back she gently strokes her foot;
He thinks himself in Paradise.
What feelings through his seven senses shoot!
But she looks on with careless eyes.
I lick her soles, and kiss her shoes,
As gently as a bear well may;
Softly I rise, and with a clever ruse
Leap on her knee.--On a propitious day
She suffers it; my ears then tickles she,
And hits me a hard blow in wanton play;
I growl with new-born ecstasy;
Then speaks she in a sweet vain jest, I wot
"Allons lout doux! eh! la menotte!
Et faites serviteur
Comme un joli seigneur."
Thus she proceeds with sport and glee;
Hope fills the oft-deluded beast;
Yet if one moment he would lazy be,
Scheme | a b xa ccdd ee f g gfhhhiiffffffjkk l xlxmnn e j jeeooxp nn q p qrr k f f s S k s S ks ttxbuueev q qvffw x xwy v vy z xz mhx lpp 1 2 2 1 x xx x3 4 3 4 e 4 ebbdde xe |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 11010011 01111110 110101001 01011111 11110101 0111101 11011101 01111111 110111110111 11110110111 1101001010 11011101 10110001 110101010 01101001001 11011111 0101010101 1101001101 01110101 11010101010 111111011010 010010010 0110011010110 010010010 010010010 01111111 1111011101 1110010111 010101 111111 11110111 11010111 001111 1111 1111111101 111010111 0101111 01010101 11010100 01111111 1101011101 110111 1111111111 11011011 1111101 1111111101 00110101 11011101 11110111 1111111100 111111100 11100101 010101010 010100010 1101 1101 01010101 0101 1101 11010101 01110111 11001101 01010111 11010101 01011101 101010111 11011101 010111 111111011 11010111 11010111 01110111 0101010101 1011101 100111 101101 110101 11111 0111010101 1111011101 011110101 0111111 1011101 1111010 0111010101 1111100010 1111010101 0111011101 1101110111 110101011 0111010101 0101110101 111101101 110111 110111 110101 0111110101 1101010 1101110101 11111101 11010101 11010111 1011010101 1101100101 1101111101 0110110101 11111100 1110011111 111111 111 1111 11011101 11010101 1111011101 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 4,010 |
Words | 773 |
Sentences | 53 |
Stanzas | 46 |
Stanza Lengths | 1, 1, 2, 4, 2, 1, 1, 16, 1, 6, 1, 1, 7, 2, 1, 1, 3, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 9, 1, 5, 1, 3, 1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 3, 1, 1, 3, 2, 2, 2, 2, 7, 2 |
Lines Amount | 114 |
Letters per line (avg) | 27 |
Words per line (avg) | 7 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 68 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 17 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 25, 2023
- 3:59 min read
- 124 Views
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"Lily's Menagerie" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 29 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/21708/lily%27s-menagerie>.
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