II.
THE UNKNOWN.
(FROM THE GERMAN OF AUERSPERG.)
Through the city's narrow gateway
Forth an aged beggar fares,
None is there to give him escort,
And no farewell word he bears.
Heaven's grey cloud to no one whispers
Of God's message in its fold;
Earth's grey rock to no one whispers
That it hides the shaft of gold.
And the naked tree in winter
Tells not straightway to the eye
That it once so greenly glistened,
Bloomed and bore so bounteously.
None would dream that yon old beggar,
Tottering, bending toward the ground,
Once was clothed in royal purple,
And his silver locks gold-crowned!
Foul conspirators discrowned him,
Tore the radiant purple off,
Placing in his hands, for sceptre,
Yonder wormy pilgrim-staff.
Thus, for years, now, has he wandered,
All ungreeted and unknown,
Through so many a foreign country,
Bowed and broken and alone.
Weary unto death, he lays him
'Neath a tree, in evening's beam,
Music in the twigs and blossoms
Sings him to an endless dream.