To serve me then Fate seemed inclined, At sweet sundown we often stray, SONG. I saw thee 'mid the flowers, None could with thee compare, Amid the stars resplendent, And when from earth departed, M. BARNETT. From the German. BRIDGES AND WINGS. 225 LOVE'S PROVING. What shall I say to thee, heart of my heart, Nay do not speak to me heart of my heart, Lest all our farewells be uttered in vain. When it is over when thou art gone Past all entreaty, all yielding and prayer; When thou art wand'ring in darkness alone, Why could I leave thee to doubt and despair, Ask thine own heart and then thou shalt know "Tis that I love thee and worship thee so. FREDERIC WEATHERLY. BRIDGES AND WINGS. Each song I send thee is a bridge, A golden bridge, by which my love And all my dreams have angel-wings, SONG. Love is a sickness full of woes, GEIBEL A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using Why so? More we enjoy it, more it dies; Love is a torment of the mind, And Jove hath made it of a kind Not well, nor full, nor fasting. More we enjoy it, more it dies; A NYMPH'S PASSION. I love, and he loves me again, A NYMPH'S PASSION. For if the nymphs should know my swain, I fear they'd love him too; Yet if it be not known, The pleasure is as good as none, For that's a narrow joy is but our own. I'll tell, that if they be not glad, They yet may envy me; It were a plague 'bove scorn, And yet it cannot be forlorn, 227 Unless my heart would as my thought be torn. He is, if they can find him, fair, And fresh and fragrant too, As summer's sky, or purged air, And looks as lilies do That are this morning blown; Yet, yet I doubt he is not known, And fear much more, that more of him be shown. But he hath eyes so round and bright, As make away my doubt, Where Love may all his torches light What nymph so'er his voice but hears, I'll tell no more, and yet I love, And he loves me; yet no But so exempt from blame, As it would be to each a fame, If love or fear would let me tell his name. BEN JONSON. A FOOLISH QUESTION. Why I am not kind to-day? Why, my friend, what's this you say? Pray, can you recall to mind That I ever have been kind? But if it were ever so, "Tis forgotten, long ago! Or, if not forgotten yet, From this hour I will forget! RÜCKERT. CONTENTED. I sat above the meadow, |