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Julius Zeyer (1841—1901).




In the grove sings the throstle,
O golden strain,
Full of longing and tenderness,
Full of sweet pain!

How the meadow is smiling,
And the green-covered leas;
What secrets they capture
From the whispering breeze!

And the lurk in the tempest
Its song is flinging,
As o'er a dark forest
A star were singing.

Lo the sun and the spring-tide,
Lo verdant May;
Once again 'tis returning,
With its dreamy lay.

O spring-tide, O May-tide,
O the sounds that take flight;
How the earth has grown youthful,
And the air full of might!

On all sides what brightness,
And around me what gladness;
But grief in my bosom,
And sorrow and sadness.

My love that is loveless,
Is bleeding in anguish;
Ne'er returneth my May-tide,
In the grave it doth languish.


"New Songs" (1907).