'Tis through thee only that I live;
Little 'twere life alone to give,
My joy in life then deign to be!"
And then I told my sorrows o'er,
Her eyes to earth she sweetly threw;
I kiss'd her, and she kiss'd me too,
And—then I talked of death no more.
1775.* ——- THE MUSES' SON.
[Goethe quotes the beginning of this song in his Autobiography, as expressing the manner in which his poetical effusions used to pour out from him.]
THROUGH field and wood to stray,
And pipe my tuneful lay,—
'Tis thus my days are pass'd;
And all keep tune with me,
And move in harmony,
And so on, to the last.