SONNETS TO MY MOTHER, B. HEINE,
née VON GELDERN.
I.
I have been wont to bear my forehead high—
My stubborn temper yields with no good grace.
The king himself might look me in the face,
And yet I would not downward cast mine eye.
But I confess, dear mother, openly,
However proud my haughty spirit swell,
When I within thy blessed presence dwell,
Oft am I smit with shy humility.
Is it thy soul, with secret influence,
Thy lofty soul piercing all shows of sense,
Which soareth, heaven-born, to heaven again?
Or springs it from sad memories that tell
How many a time I caused thy dear heart pain,
Thy gentle heart, that loveth me so well!
II.
In fond delusion once I left thy side;
Unto the wide world's end I fain would fare,
To see if I might find Love anywhere,
And lovingly embrace Love as a bride.
Love sought I in all paths, at every gate;
Oft and again outstretching suppliant palms,
I begged in vain of Love the slightest alms,
But the world laughed and offered me cold hate.
Forever I aspired towards Love, forever
Towards Love, and ne'ertheless I found Love never,—
And sick at heart, homeward my steps did move.
And lo! thou comest forth to welcome me;
And that which in thy swimming eyes I see,
That is the precious, the long-looked-for Love.
THE SPHINX.
This is the old enchanted wood,
Sweet lime trees scent the wind;
The glamor of the moon has cast
A spell upon my mind.