Alone I rove, my dreaming soul is thrilled
With spring. Today a smiling noon-tide beamed.
Upon bough-shaded walls the sunshine streamed:
I wander, — steps resound. I lift my gaze;
A nun, grey sister, on my pathway strays:
Two blossoming hyacinths she bears with her,
On one a blazing blossom is astir:
The second doth a moon-white lustre shed:
And still I gaze, how the nun droops her head
Upon the flower; her timid eyes are bent.
Violets from old-time gardens scatter scent.
“What life gave” (1883).
13. MORNING.
The summer morn its glory lavished o'er
The cornfields' pomp, the emerald of plains,
It let its pearls amid the nests outpour,
Its notes it wove amid the birds' refrains.
Each tree has stirred its fruit-o'erladen crest,
One boundless smile lay o'er the azure sky,
A mighty insect creased the water's breast,
'Mid blossoms gleamed a gorgeous butterfly.
The land its veil of shimmering mist uprolled,
As coils a maid her hair when she has bathed;
The ancient bridge with arches steeped in gold,
Quivered above the toirent, rainbow-swathed.
The reaper fieldward with his sickle stalked,
The herdsman strode behind the flock with song;
The maid, barefooted, with the seed-cloth walked,
Wiping the pearls where'er she passed along.
