The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/Reservation
RESERVATION.
My maiden she proved false to me;
To hate all joys I soon began,
Then to a flowing stream I ran,—
The stream ran past me hastily.
There stood I fixed, in mute despair;
My head swam round as in a dream;
I well-nigh fell into the stream,
And earth seemed with me whirling there.
Sudden I heard a voice that cried—
I had just turned my face from thence—
It was a voice to charm each sense:
"Beware, for deep is yonder tide!"
A thrill my blood pervaded now,
I looked, and saw a beauteous maid;—
I asked her name—'twas Kate, she said—
"Oh, lovely Kate! how kind art thou!
"From death I have been saved by thee,
'Tis through thee only that I live;
Little 'twere life alone to give,
My joy in life then deign to be!"
And then I told my sorrows o'er,
Her eyes to earth she sweetly threw;
I kissed her, and she kissed me too.,
And—then I talked of death no more.