The hand, which once with fresh and youthful strength
Guided thy steadfast brush from year to year.
Johannes:
Alas, ’tis true; I feel as if the fires
That erstwhile quickened in my soul are quenched.
Mine eye, grown dull, doth no more catch the gleam
Shed by the flickering sunlight o’er the earth.
No feeling stirs my heart, when changing moods
Of light and shade flow o’er the scenes around.
Still lies my hand, seeking no more to chain