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The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/Growth

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GROWTH.

O'er field and plain, in childhood's artless days,
Thou sprangest with me on many a spring-morn fair,
"For such a daughter, with what pleasing care,
Would I, as father, happy dwellings raise?"

And when thou on the world didst cast thy gaze,
Thy joy was then in household toils to share.
"Why did I trust her, why she trust me e'er?
For such a sister, how I Heaven should praise!"

Nothing can now the beauteous growth retard;
Love's glowing flame within my breast is fanned.
Shall I embrace her form, my grief to end?
Thee as a queen must I, alas, regard:
So high above me placed thou seemest to stand;
Before a passing look I meekly bend.