"Nor will I vex thee by telling
The love that burns in my breast;
And I will weep when thou diest
Over thy place of rest."
XLIV.
"Dearest friend, what may it profit
To repeat the old refrain?
Wilt thou, brooding still above it,
Sitting on love's egg remain!
Ah, it needs incessant watching;
From the shell the chicks have risen.
Clucking, they reward thy hatching,
And this book shall be their prison."
XLV.
Only bear with me in patience,
If the notes of former wrongs
Many a time distinctly echo
In the latest of my songs.
Wait! the slow reverberation
Of my grief will soon depart,
And a spring of new song blossom
In my healed, reviving heart.
XLVI.
'Tis time that, more sober and serious grown,
From folly at last I break free.
I, who so long in comedian's gown,
Have played in the play with thee.