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TWO PRELUDES.


I.

LOHENGRIN.

Love, out of the depth of things,
As a dewfall felt from above,
From the heaven whence only springs
Love,


Love, heard from the heights thereof,
The clouds and the watersprings,
Draws close as the clouds remove.


And the soul in it speaks and sings,
A swan sweet-souled as a dove,
An echo that only rings
Love.


II.

TRISTAN UND ISOLDE.

Fate, out of the deep sea's gloom,
When a man's heart's pride grows great,
And nought seems now to foredoom
Fate,


Fate, laden with fears in wait,
Draws close through the clouds that loom,
Till the soul see, all too late,


More dark than a dead world's tomb,
More high than the sheer dawn's gate,
More deep than the wide sea's womb,
Fate.