Like a high-born maiden
In a palace tower,
Soothing her love-laden

Soul in secret hour

With music sweet as love, which overflows Or how could thy notes flow in such a

her bower;

crystal stream?

Like a glow-worm golden
In a dell of dew,

Scattering unbeholden

Its aerial hue

With some pain is fraught;

Among the flowers and grass, which screen Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

it from the view;

Sound of vernal showers
On the twinkling grass,
Rain-awakened flowers,

Like a rose embowered

In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflowered, Till the scent it gives

Makes faint with too much sweet these I know not how thy joy we ever should heavy-winged thieves.

come near.

Better than all measures
Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures
That in books are found,

All that ever was

Joyous and clear and fresh thy music Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of

the ground!

doth surpass.

Teach us, sprite or bird,

What sweet thoughts are thine!

I have never heard

Chorus hymeneal

Teach me half the gladness

That thy brain must know
Such harmonious madness
From my lips would flow,

Praise of love or wine

That panted forth a flood of rapture so The world should listen then, as I am

divine.

listening now!

Or triumphal chant

Matched with thine, would be all
But an empty vaunt,
A thing wherein we feel there is some
hidden want.

Waking or asleep,

Thou of death must deem
Things more true and deep
Than we mortals dream,

We look before and after,
And pine for what is not:
Our sincerest laughter

Never came near thee:

Yet if we could scorn
Hate and pride and fear;
If we were things born
Not to shed a tear,

Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.

ONE WORD IS TOO OFTEN PROFANED.

ONE word is too often profaned
For me to profane it,
One feeling too falsely disdained
For thee to disdain it.