“Under the stars,” she repeated. “I never noticed the stars before. I always thought of them as great big diamonds that belonged to someone. Now they frighten me. They make me feel that it was all a dream, all my youth.” “It was a dream,” said John quietly. “Everybody’s youth is a dream, a form of chemical madness.” “How pleasant then to be insane!” —“The Diamond as Big as the Ritz” A Short Story By F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896–1940)
Margaret’s Song
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There was a king in Thule,
True even to the grave;
To whom his dying mistress
A golden beaker gave.
At every feast he drained it,
Naught was to him so dear,
And often as he drained it,
Gush’d from his eyes the tear.
When death came, unrepining
His cities o’er he told;
All to his heir resigning,
Except his cup of gold.
With many a knightly vassal
At a royal feast sat he,
In yon proud hall ancestral,
In his castle o’er the sea.
Up stood the jovial monarch,
And quaff’d his last life’s glow,
Then hurled the hallow’d goblet
Into the flood below.
He saw it splashing, drinking,
And plunging in the sea;
His eyes meanwhile were sinking,
And never again drank he.
“Margaret’s Song” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832) in “Faust. Part I.”
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