Slowly my days are dragging And in my faded heart each moment doubles All the sorrows of hopeless love And heavy craze upsets me. But I am silent. Heard not is my murmur. Tears I shed ... they are my consolation; My soul in sorrow steeped Finds enjoyment bitter in them. O flee, life's dream, thee not regret I! In darkness vanish, empty vision! Dear to me is of love my pain, Let me die, but let me die still loving! 1816. [RESIGNED LOVE.] IV. 99. Thee I loved; not yet love perhaps is In my heart entirely quenched But trouble let it thee no more; Thee to grieve with nought I wish. Silent, hopeless thee I loved, By fear tormented, now by jealousy; So sincere my love, so tender, May God the like thee grant from another. [LOVE AND FREEDOM.] III. 157. Child of Nature and simple, Thus to sing was wont I Sweet the dream of freedom-- With tenderness my breast it filled. But thee I see, thee I hear-- And now? Weak become I. With freedom lost forever With all my heart I bondage prize. [NOT AT ALL.] IV. 118. I thought forgotten has the heart Of suffering the easy art; Not again can be, said I Not again what once has been. Of Love the sorrows gone were, Now calm were my airy dreams.... But behold! again they tremble Beauty's mighty power before!... [INSPIRING LOVE.] IV. 117. The moment wondrous I remember Thou before me didst appear Like a flashing apparition, Like a spirit of beauty pure. 'Mid sorrows of hopeless grief, 'Mid tumults of noiseful bustle, Rang long to me thy tender voice, Came dreams to me of thy lovely features. Went by the years. The storm's rebellious rush The former dreams had scattered And I forgot thy tender voice, I forgot thy heavenly features. In the desert, in prison's darkness, Quietly my days were dragging; No reverence, nor inspiration, Nor tears, nor life, nor love. But at last awakes my soul: And again didst thou appear: Like a flashing apparition, Like a spirit of beauty pure. And enraptured beats my heart, And risen are for it again Both reverence, and inspiration And life, and tears, and love. 1825. [THE GRACES.] III. 160. Till now no faith I had in Graces: Seemed strange to me their triple sight; Thee I see, and with faith am filled Adoring now in one the three! Poems: miscellaneous. THE BIRDLET. IV. 133. In exile I sacredly observe The custom of my fatherland: I freedom to a birdlet give On Spring's holiday serene. And now I too have consolation: Wherefore murmur against my God When at least to one living being I could of freedom make a gift? 1823. THE NIGHTINGALE. IV. 145.