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Paraphrases on Heine.
XXXIII.
I.
T morn I'll send thee violets, Fresh from the forest bower,At evening bring thee roses, Plucked at the twilight hour.II.
Know'st thou what the flowers say In emblematic light?—True must thou be to me by day, And love me in the night.
LXXXVI.
I.
IGHT falls upon this Pathway strange, Tired heart, and weary limbs;Ah! there flows like silent Blessing, Light adown the sweet moon-beams.II.
Sweetest moon, with thy bright shining, Drive away this nightly grey,For it minds me of my sorrow, And the tears I've wept away.
