The Christmas Box

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832)

This box, mine own sweet darling, thou wilt find
With many a varied sweetmeat’s form supplied;
The fruits are they of holy Christmas tide,
But baked indeed, for children’s use design’d.

I’d fain, in speeches sweet with skill combin’d,
Poetic sweetmeats for the feast provide;
But why in such frivolities confide?
Perish the thought, with flattery to blind!

One sweet thing there is still, that from within,
Within us speaks, — that may be felt afar;
This may be wafted o’er to thee alone.

If thou a recollection fond canst win,
As if with pleasure gleam’d each well-known star,
The smallest gift thou never wilt disown.

1807