MODERN BOHEMIAN POETRY
71
The leaf is bursting from the twig,
The birds are gaily singing;
And from the youthful breast and heart
The buds of love are springing.
III.
The trees are rustling softly; through
The leaves scarce moves a breeze;
The birds in blissful dreams repose,
So silent and at ease.
Many a star in heaven appears,
Around it is so free;
But in my bosom there is grief,
In my heart is misery.
Upon the petals of the flowers
The dew in splendour lies;
O God, and even so the dew
Wells up into my eyes.
IV.
Now all is sleeping in the world,
Save the heart within my breast;
God knows, it is the heart alone
That ne'er lies down to rest.
