Evening Songs
XXXIX
It seemed to me—Grief had grown old,
Soon would come its last countin’,
And tears—so many had been shed
That dry must be their fountain.
Then suddenly I thought of Thee,
And soon my whole soul shivered,
And as though I should lose Thee soon
An echo in it quivered.
And mine eyes promptly filled with tears,
My joy to grief is bending,
And I am finding out with pain
That tears shall have no ending.
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