For the Rosenfeld of the Songs from the Ghetto, the present is terrible and the future hopeless; there is always an aching desire for beauty and happiness, but to him beauty and happiness themselves wait upon toil and suffering and death—the nightingale groans “upon the great cemetery of the world.” But Songs from the Ghetto was written some fifteen years ago. Some of his later poetry is lighter—some hope and the joy of living appear to have crept into it. Of these, a hitherto unpublished poem in English called “If,” has but a gentle melancholy: IF If hope would fly and sorrow stay, If stars were dark and days were gray, If love would vanish like a breath, What would be life? What would be death? If songs would die out in the nests, And pleasure to the human breasts, If flowers were to lose their hue,— Oh! What would be I, What would be you? Stealings is full of personal joy: STEALINGS I steal a smile from thy fair face And hide it deep within my heart; I steal a shadow of thy grace And hide it deep within my soul; I steal a ray from thy bright eyes And hide it deep within my mind; I steal the echo of thy sighs And weave them softly in my dreams; A word from thy sweet lips I steal And hide it deep within my thoughts; I steal the rapture of thy thrill And drown it deep within my blood; And from these thefts, these sacred stealings Are born the bright flames of my love, And the fountain of all sweet feelings, And the stream of my life’s joy. But even if he can for a time forget the toil and trouble of the world in a personal joy, his first love is with the workers and with them he asks to have his Resting Place— Seek me not ’mid blooming meadows, Not there my spirit you can trace, Where workers toil like spectral shadows, ’Tis there you’ll find my resting place. Seek me not where birds are singing, Not there my spirit you can trace; A slave am I—where chains are ringing, ’Tis there you’ll find my resting place. Seek me not ’mid fountains dashing, Not there my spirit you can trace, Where tears are falling, teeth are gnashing, ’Tis there you’ll find my resting place.