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I cannot tell how it might be
In other homes; but this I know: Could my lost darling come to me,
That she would never find it so.
Ofttimes the flowers have come and gone,
Ofttimes the winter winds have blown,
Have slowly learned from day to day
Fond, faithful love has blest my way,
Is empty as the day she died.
How would I spring with bated breath,
I dare not dream the blissful dream.
She still must slumber-God knows best!
THY HANDS WILL DRAW ME IN. 195
But this I know, that those who say
Our best beloved word find no place, Have never hungered every day
Through years and years for one dear face!
THY HANDS WILL DRAW ME IN.
Once in the twilight of a wintry day,
One passed me silent, struggling on his way, With head bowed low and hands that burdens
And saw not how a little space before,
A woman watched his coming, where the light Poured a glad welcome through a window bright, Set thick with flowers that showed no fairer bloom
Than her sweet face, turned outward to the gloom.
Yet when his foot, with quick impatient stride, But touched the step, the door swung open wide; Soft hands reached swiftly out, with eager hold, And drew the dear one in from storm and cold.
O love! whose eyes, from some celestial height, Behold me toiling burdened through the night, Sender of every blast at which I cower,
Yet smiling still, to know how brief the hour,
Keeping within thy radiant, love-lit home,
There in the fane a beauteous creature stands, The first best work of the Creator's hands, Whose slender limbs inadequately bear
A full-orbed bosom and a weight of care;
Whose teeth like pearls, whose lips like cherries
And fawn-like eyes still tremble as they glow.
Translated from the German
SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.
She walks in beauty, like the night,
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.
I think not on my father,
And these great tears grace his remembrance
Than those I shed for him. What was he like?
In our heart's table; heart, too capable
Remember thee? Yes, while there's life in this heart
It shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art; More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom and thy showers,
Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours.
Wert thou all that I wish thee-great, glorious and free,
First flower of the earth, and first gem of the
I might hail thee with prouder, with happier
But oh, could I love thee more deeply than now?
No; thy chains as they rankle, thy blood as it
But make thee more painfully dear to thy sons,
Drink love in each life-drop that flows from thy