« PreviousContinue »
Joy requires thee not to chase it,
Searching, roaming everywhere :
Learn to see and to embrace it
In thy path—'tis ever there.
A SPACIOUS pond was frozen over;
Were fain to abandon croaking and springing, But promised themselves, in a kind of trance, That if ever again they got the chance,
Like nightingales all would soon be singing. The thaw-wind melted down the ice,
With pride they paddled to land in a trice,
GOETHE.—Die Frösche. THE GRAVE.
The grave with gloom is clouded;
Beyond its margin lone There lies, in blackness shrouded,
Another land, unknown.
Not all the sweet birds' singing
Within the depth can sound; The flowers that Grief is flinging
Touch but the mossy mound.
There kneels the bride forsaken,
And wrings her hands in vain; There orphan cries awaken
No answering voice again.
And yet 'tis there that mortals
For perfect peace must come, And, save through its dark portals,
They cannot enter home.
The heart, forlorn and lonely,
And tossed with tempests sore, Reaches the haven only
When it can beat no more.
SALIS.—Das Grab. O LOVE WHILE LOVE IS NIGH AT HAND!
O LOVE while love is nigh at hand !
O love while love and life are brave !
The hour may come, the hour may come
For thee to mourn beside the grave.
And see that, fostered, in thy breast
Love ever finds a fitting throne
Beats back in answer to thine own.
And he who shows thee all his soul,
O give him love for love again!
And let it never bring him pain.