[Again I Sing my Songs]
Once again my songs I sing thee,
Now the spell is broken;
Brothers, yet again I bring thee
Songs of love the token.
Of my joy and of my sorrow
Gladly, sadly bringing;—
Summer not a song would borrow—
Winter sets me singing.
O when life turns sad and lonely,
When our joys are dead;
When are heard the ravens only
In the trees o’erhead;
When the stormwind on the bowers
Wreaks its wicked will,
When the frost paints lying flowers,
How should I be still?
When the clouds are low descending,
And the sun is drowned;
When the winter knows no ending,
And the cold is crowned;
When with evil gloom oppressed
Lie the ruins bare;
When a sigh escapes the breast,
Takes us unaware;
When the snow-wrapped mountain dreams
Of its summer gladness,
When the wood is stripped and seems
Full of care and sadness;
When the songs are growing still
As in Death’s repose,
And the heart is growing chill,
And the eyelids close;
Then, O then I can but sing
For I dream her coming—
May, sweet May! I see her bring
Buds and wild-bee humming!
Through the silence heart-appalling,
As I stand and listen,
I can hear her song-birds calling,
See her green leaves glisten!
Thus again my songs I sing thee,
Now the spell is broken;
Brothers, yet again I bring thee
Of my love the token.
Of my joy and of my sorrow
Gladly, sadly bringing,—
Summer not a song would borrow!—
Winter sets me singing.
[Liberty]
When night and silence deep
Hold all the world in sleep,
As tho’ Death claimed the Hour,
By some strange witchery
Appears her form to me,
As tho’ Magic were her dow’r.
Her beauty heaven’s light!
Her bosom snowy white!
But pale her cheek appears.
Her shoulders firm and fair;
A mass of gold her hair.
Her eyes—the home of tears.