The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/Next Year's Spring
NEXT YEAR'S SPRING.
The bed of flowers
Loosens amain,
The beauteous snowdrops
Drop o'er the plain.
The crocus opens
Its glowing bud,
Like emeralds others,
Others, like blood.
With saucy gesture
Primroses flare,
And roguish violets
Hidden with care;
And whatsoever
There stirs and strives,
The Spring's contented,
It works and thrives.
'Mongst all the blossoms
That fairest are,
My sweetheart's sweetness
Is sweetest far;
Upon me ever
Her glances light,
My song they waken
My words make bright.
An ever open
And blooming mind.
In sport, unsullied,
In earnest, kind.
Though roses and lilies
By summer are brought,
Against my sweetheart
Prevails he nought.