The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/The Epochs
On Petrarch's heart, all other days before,
In flaming letters written, was impressed
Good Friday. And on mine, be it confessed,
Is this year's Advent, as it passeth o'er.
I do not now begin,—I still adore
Her whom I early cherished in my breast,
Then once again with prudence dispossessed,
And to whose heart I'm driven back once more.
The love of Petrarch, that all-glorious love,
Was unrequited, and, alas, full sad;
One long Good Friday 'twas, one heartache drear;
But may my mistress' Advent ever prove,
With its palm-jubilee, so sweet and glad,
One endless May-day, through the livelong year!