"How was it once? How will it be?"
I prithee, darling, ask not me.
Our life's the Present--hold it fast,
And let each hour in joy be passed.
Lift up thine eyes, so bright and clear;
To search my heart, thou need'st not fear.
Come, let us gather Flora's sweets,
Ere wintry storm around us beats.
Thus sang Irma, with clear, ringing voice. Nature was again decked in beauteous array. The sharp winds of early spring were still blowing, and the sunlight was often suddenly obscured by floating snow-clouds. But the grass had begun to grow in the meadows, and here and there spring flowers were blooming.
Irma had recovered, after a few days. The bulletins respecting the queen's health had ceased, and Gunther, who had lived in the palace for weeks, now returned to his own house.