Our bliss is ne'er destroy'd;More freely throbs our breast,
Thy name, pray?--
Since yester e'en?Oh, ye fair sisters,
Then the son thoughtfully answer'd:--"I know not why, but the fact isMy annoyance has graven itself in my mind, and hereafterI could not bear at the piano to see her, or list to her singing."
Far in the misty blue;Here gentle love still strays,
Soon a tender pair I spy,
Song of the FatesFrom Gotz von Berlichingen :--
He and all of his are heathens yet.
O'er the steep brake,Others are floating far
1818.-----TO THE RISING FULL MOON.
While on this sight our master gazed,His head was growing well-nigh crazed:What words for all could he e'er find,Could such a medley be combined?Could he continue with delightFor evermore to sing and write?When lo, from out a cloud's dark bedIn at the upper window spedThe Muse, in all her majesty,As fair as our loved maids we see.With clearness she around him threwHer truth, that ever stronger grew.
Would thou wert here!
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