But with my dream at morning,
It never melts away;
For in my heart I bear it
Through all the livelong day.
LII.
Maiden with the lips of scarlet,
Clearest, sweetest eyes that be,
O my darling little maiden,
Ever do I think of thee!
Dreary is the winter evening:
Would that I were in thy home,
Sitting by thee, calmly chatting,
In the cosy little room.
And upon my lips, my darling,
I would press thy small white hand.
I would press and I would moisten
With my tears thy small, white hand.
LIII.
Let the snow without be piled,
Let the howling storm rage wild,
Beating o'er the window-pane,—
I will never more complain,
For within my heart bide warm
Spring-tide joy and sweetheart's form.
LIV.
Some to Mary bend the knee,
Others unto Paul and Peter,
I, however, I will worship,
Sun of beauty, only thee.