Part 20 (1/2)

II

”DU BIST WIE EINE BLUME”

Fair art thou as a flower And innocent and shy: I look on thee and sorrow; I grieve, I know not why.

I long to lay, in blessing, My hand upon thy brow, And pray that G.o.d may keep thee As fair and pure as now.

1872.

EIGHT ECHOES FROM THE POEMS OF AUGUSTE ANGELLIER

I

THE IVORY CRADLE

The cradle I have made for thee Is carved of orient ivory, And curtained round with wavy silk More white than hawthorn-bloom or milk.

A twig of box, a lilac spray, Will drive the goblin-horde away; And charm thy childlike heart to keep Her happy dream and virgin sleep.

Within that pure and fragrant nest, I'll rock thy gentle soul to rest, With tender songs we need not fear To have a pa.s.sing angel hear.

Ah, long and long I fain would hold The snowy curtain's guardian fold Around thy crystal visions, born In clearness of the early morn.

But look, the sun is glowing red With triumph in his golden bed; Aurora's virgin whiteness dies In crimson glory of the skies.

The rapid flame will burn its way Through these white curtains, too, one day; The ivory cradle will be left Undone, and broken, and bereft.

II

DREAMS

Often I dream your big blue eyes, Though loth their meaning to confess, Regard me with a clear surprise Of dawning tenderness.

Often I dream you gladly hear The words I hardly dare to breathe,-- The words that falter in their fear To tell what throbs beneath.

Often I dream your hand in mine Falls like a flower at eventide, And down the path we leave a line Of footsteps side by side.

But ah, in all my dreams of bliss, In pa.s.sion's hunger, fever's drouth, I never dare to dream of this: My lips upon your mouth.

And so I dream your big blue eyes, That look on me with tenderness, Grow wide, and deep, and sad, and wise, And dim with dear distress.

III

THE GARLAND OF SLEEP

A wreath of poppy flowers, With leaves of lotus blended, Is carved on Life's facade of hours, From night to night suspended.