“That time of year thou may’st in me behold, |
When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang |
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, |
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. |
In me thou seest the twilight of such day, |
As after sunset fadeth in the west; |
Which by and by black night doth take away, — |
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest. |
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, |
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie; |
As the death-bed whereon it must expire, |
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.” |
Shakspeare. [Sonnet lxxiii.] |
“Aber zufrieden mit stillerem Ruhme, |
Brechen die Frauen des Augenblick’s Blume, |
Nähren sie sorgsam mit liebendem Fleiss, |
Freier in ihrem gebundenen Wirken, |
Reicher als er in des Wissens Bezirken |
Und in der Dichtung unendlichem Kreis.” |
Schiller. |
“Not like to like, but like in difference; |
Yet in the long years liker must they grow, — |
The man be more of woman, she of man; |
He gain in sweetness and in moral height, |
Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world; |
She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care; |
More as the double-natured poet each; |
Till at the last she set herself to man, |
Like perfect music unto noble words.” |
Tennyson. |