MODERN BOHEMIAN POETRY
73
XIII.
Thou art still but a flower-bud,
From out the earth scarce born,
And yet already roses fair
Thy countenance adorn.
These roses are so beautiful,
Their fragrance so divine,
My soul is filled with love for them,
My heart for them doth pine.
XXI.
The stars up yonder in the sky
Are mighty worlds; and fain
Would I but know what kind they are
The beings they contain.
And whether there is someone there
Who gazes from above;
And if 'tis so, if he like me
Is singing songs of love.
XXIV.
The moon is up amidst the stars,
The woods are filled with sound;
O'er the wide world it is as if
God scattered love around.
