PROLOGUE.
Sometimes when o’er pictures turning
You have seen the man perchance,
Who is for the battle yearning,
Well-equipp’d with shield and lance.
Yet young loves are hov’ring round him,
Stealing lance and sword away;
They with flow’ry chains have bound him
Though he struggle in dismay.
I, too, in such charming fetters,
Bind myself with sad delight,
And I leave it to my betters
In time’s mighty fight to fight.
1.
’Neath the white tree sitting sadly,
Thou dost hear the far winds wailing,
Seëst how the mute clouds o’er thee
Are their forms in mist fast veiling;
See’st how all beneath seems perish’d,
Wood and plain, how shorn and dreary;
Round thee winter, in thee winter,
Frozen is thy heart and weary.
Sudden downward fall upon thee
Flakes all white, and with vexation
Thou dost think the tree is show’ring
Snow-dust from that elevation.
Soon with joyful start thou findest
’Tis no snow-dust cold and freezing;
Fragrant blossoms ’tis of springtime
Cov’ring thee and fondly teasing.
What a shudd’ring-sweet enchantment!
Into May is winter turning,
Snow hath changed itself to blossoms,
And thy heart with love is yearning.