Page:Poems Schiller.djvu/60

Drift softly, winter snow—
 The light of the fair morn
Beams with a softer glow
 When falling on his tomb.
The stars that virgil keep,
 More sweet and tender grow
Above where he doth sleep—
 Drift softly, winter snow.

Drift softly, winter snow,
 Above your covering,
Where my beloved rests low
 I'll make my offering:
Pale flowers that no art
 Can save from winter's blast,
Yet they will show my heart
 Still wanders with the past.

Drift softly, winter snow,
 Beneath the wild wind's storm
There lieth still and low
 A fair unconscious form;