74
MODERN BOHEMIAN POETRY
These early leaves with many a voice
Exchange a converse sweet;
It is as if the amorous world
In a single kiss did meet.
And yet I know, in solitude
Is many a heart oppressed,
And many a youthful face doth find
From bitter tears no rest.
LVI.
O God, within this soul of mine,
Each wish is lulled to sleep;
This only do I crave of thee,
That I my song may keep.
If Thou my gift of song would'st take,
No longer would I live,
Nor happy be, if for my song
Thou happiness would'st give.
LXIV.
The pale moon in the skies doth rest,
A song hath risen in my breast.
The birds have come and did relate
That our love hath been so great.
