Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/378

Food for song, where hopest thou to find it? I only can give it,
⁠And a more excellent style, love, and love only can teach."
Thus did the Sophist discourse. What mortal, alas! could resist him?
⁠And when a master commands, I have been trained to obey.
Now he deceitfully keeps his word, gives food for my numbers,
⁠But, while he does so, alas! robs me of time, strength, and mind.
Looks, and pressure of hands, and words of kindness, and kisses,
⁠Syllables teeming with thought, by a fond pair are exchanged.
Then becomes whispering talk,—and stammering, a language enchanting.
⁠Free from all prosody's rules, dies such a hymn on the ear.
Thee, Aurora, I used to own as the friend of the Muses;
⁠Hath, then, Amor the rogue cheated, Aurora, e'en thee?
Thou dost appear to me now as his friend, and again dost awake me
⁠Unto a day of delight, while at his altar I kneel.
All her locks I find on my bosom, her head is reposing.
⁠Pressing with softness the arm, which round her neck is entwined;
Oh! what a joyous awakening, ye hours so peaceful, succeeded,
⁠Monument sweet of the bliss which had first rocked us to sleep!
In her slumber she moves, and sinks, while her face is averted,

⁠Far on the breadth of the couch, leaving her hand still in mine.