My little songs do I utter
From out of my great, great sorrow;
Some tinkling pinions they borrow,
And tow’rd her bosom they flutter.
They found it, and over it hover’d,
But soon return’d they, complaining,
And yet to tell me disdaining
What they in her bosom discover’d.
40.
Sweet darling, beloved by me solely,
The thoughts in my memory dwell
That once I possess’d thee wholly,
Thy soul and body as well.
Thy body, so young and tender,
I need, beyond all doubt;
Thy soul to the tomb I’ll surrender,
I’ve plenty of soul without.
I’ll cut my soul in sunder,
And half of it breathe into thee,
And when I embrace thee,—O wonder!—
One soul and body we’ll be.
41.
The blockheads, their holidays keeping,
Are walking through forest and plain;
They shout, and like kittens are leaping,
And hail sweet Nature again.
They gaze, with glances that glisten,
On each romantic thing;
With ears like asses they listen
To hear the sparrows sing.
My chamber window to darken,
With black cloth I hang it by day;
To the signal my spirits straight hearken,
Day-visits they hasten to pay.