The clouds fast
gather,
The forest-oaks
roar-
A maiden is sitting
Beside the
green shore,-
The billows are breaking with might,
with might,
And she sighs aloud in the darkling
night,
Her eyelid heavy with weeping.
My hearts
dead within me,
The world
is a void;
To the wish it
gives nothing,
Each hope
is destroyed.
I have tasted the fulness of bliss
below
I have lived, I have loved,-Thy
child, oh take now,
Thou Holy One, into Thy keeping!
In vain
is thy sorrow,
In vain
thy tears fall,
For the dead from
their slumbers
They neer
can recall;
Yet if aught can pour comfort and
balm in thy heart,
Now that love its sweet pleasures
no more can impart,
Speak thy wish, and thou granted
shalt find it!
Though
in vain is my sorrow,
Though in
vain my tears fall,-
Though the dead
from their slumbers
They neer
can recall,
Yet no balm is so sweet to the desolate
heart,
When love its soft pleasures no
more can impart,
As the torments that love
leaves behind it!
© e-libr.com
feedback