LITMIR.BIZ

        Soft and gently through my soul

        Sweetest bells are ringing,

        Speed you forth, my little song,

        Of springtime blithely singing!

        Speed you onward to a house

        Where sweet flowers are fleeting!

        If, perchance, a rose you see,

        Say, I send her greeting!

        Thy deep blue eyes enchant me,

        So lovingly they glow;

        My gazing soul grows dreamy,

        My words come strange and slow.

        Thy deep blue eyes enchant me

        Wherever I may go:

        An ocean of azure fancies

        O'erwhelms me with its flow.

        Was once an ancient monarch,

        Heavy his heart, his locks were gray,

        This poor and aged monarch

        Took a wife so young and gay.

        Was once a page-boy handsome,

        With lightsome heart and curly hair,

        The silken train he carried

        Of the queen so young and fair.

        Dost know the old, old story?

        It sounds so sweet, so sad to tell—

        Both were obliged to perish,

        They loved each other too well.

        Oh I had once a beauteous Fatherland!

        High used to seem

        The oak—so high!—the violets nodded kind—

        It was a dream.

        In German I was kissed, in German told

        (You scarce would deem

        How sweetly rang the words): "I love thee well!—"

        It was a dream.

        It is the fairy forest old,

          With lime-tree blossoms scented!

        The moonshine with its mystic light

          My soul and sense enchanted.

        On, on I roamed, and, as I went,

          Sweet music o'er me rose there;

        It is the nightingale—she sings

          Of love and lovers' woes there.

        She sings of love and lovers' woes,

          Hearts blest, and hearts forsaken:

        So sad is her mirth, so glad her sob,

          Dreams long forgot awaken.

        Still on I roamed, and, as I went,

          I saw before me lowering

        On a great wide lawn a stately pile,

          With gables peaked and towering.

        Closed were its windows, everywhere

          A hush, a gloom, past telling;

        It seemed as though silent Death within

          These empty halls were dwelling.

        A Sphinx lay there before the door,

          Half-brutish and half-human,

        A lioness in trunk and claws,

          In head and breasts a woman.

        A lovely woman! The pale cheek

          Spoke of desires that wasted;

        The hushed lips curved into a smile,

          That wooed them to be tasted.

        The nightingale so sweetly sang,

          I yielded to their wooing;

        And as I kissed that winning face,

          I sealed my own undoing.

        The marble image thrilled with life,

          The stone began to quiver;

        She drank my kisses' burning flame

          With fierce convulsive shiver.

        She

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