I cannot tell. Yet man is with vexation
Oft fill’d by truth. If nightingale and rose
The feeling only feign’d, the fabrication
Would still be useful, we may well suppose.
21.
Because I love thee, be not scornful,
If, flying, I avoid thy face;
How ill accords my visage mournful
With thine, so fair and full of grace!
Because I love thee, every feature
Grows pale and thinner day by day;
Thou’lt find me but a hideous creature,—
I’ll shun thee,—be not scornful, pray.
22.
I wander ’mid the flowers,
And blossom with them too;
I wander as in vision,
And at each step totter anew.
O hold me fast, my loved one,
Or at thy feet I’ll fall,
With love intoxicated,
In the garden, in presence of all!
23.
As the moon’s fair image quaketh
In the raging waves of ocean,
Whilst she, in the vault of heaven,
Moves with silent peaceful motion,
Thus, beloved one, thou art moving,
Still and peaceful, and nought quaketh
In my heart save thy dear image,
While my own heart ’tis that shaketh.