Do we thus ever fully know
The boon of leaving far behind
The world's dull tales of crime and woe,
The gossip of its vacant mind?
What if her loss be really gain,
That zone of silence a defence,
A compensation for her pain,
A quickening of her psychic sense?
Perhaps when fall at last away
The chains which bind her spirit here,
A voice divine will gently say
In tones which reach alone her ear,—
"While others in that world of sin
Heard evil things, to thee unknown,
Apart from that defiling din
Thy spirit grew, in strength, alone.
"They must through other lives return
To slowly earn thy strength of soul;
Through suffering only couldst thou learn
The virtue that hath made thee whole."
AT THE VILLA OF THE EMPEROR FREDERICK III AT SAN REMO
San Remo's palms in beauty stand
Beside the storied sea,
Where azure band and golden sand
Are wedded ceaselessly;
For from the deep, which seems to sleep,
The slow waves, long and low,
Their journeys done, break one by one
In rhythmic ebb and flow.
Before me lies a fair retreat,
Whose every breath brings balm
From plants replete with odors sweet
And many a fronded palm;
Hence at its gate I, spellbound, wait
To feast my gladdened eyes
On buds that wake and flowers that make
A perfumed paradise.
Alas, that love could not avail
To guard this sweet repose!
That strength should fail, and life prove frail
And fleeting as the rose!
So fair! and yet, who can forget
The heir to Prussia's throne,
Who here fought death with labored breath,
And faced the great Unknown?
O Spirit of the Fatherland,
O love that changeth not,
Thy filial hand hath made this strand
A consecrated spot;
For on the wall, where roses fall,
Bronze words recall his fate,—
A sceptre won … when life was done,
An empire gained … too late!