210
Max Havelaar
For no one yet has counted all the stars.”
—“Say, mother, does e’en He not count the stars?”
—“No, love, not even He.”
—“Is it far off
Up there where all the stars dwell?”
—“Very far!”
—“But have these stars, so high above us, feeling?
And would they, if I touched them with my hand,
At once too sicken, die, and lose their gleam,
Just as the little fly?—See, still it flutters!—
Say, would it also hurt the stars?”
—“Ah, no,
It would not hurt the stars! But your small hand
Could never reach so high, they dwell too far.”
—“And cannot His hand catch the distant stars?”
—“Not even His: not any being’s!”
—“Pity!
I’d love to give you one! When I grow up,
Then I shall love you, love you till I can!”
—“Say, mother, does e’en He not count the stars?”
—“No, love, not even He.”
—“Is it far off
Up there where all the stars dwell?”
—“Very far!”
—“But have these stars, so high above us, feeling?
And would they, if I touched them with my hand,
At once too sicken, die, and lose their gleam,
Just as the little fly?—See, still it flutters!—
Say, would it also hurt the stars?”
—“Ah, no,
It would not hurt the stars! But your small hand
Could never reach so high, they dwell too far.”
—“And cannot His hand catch the distant stars?”
—“Not even His: not any being’s!”
—“Pity!
I’d love to give you one! When I grow up,
Then I shall love you, love you till I can!”
The child, asleep at last, of feeling dreamt,
Of distant stars that with his hands he caught. . . .
Long still the mother slept not! But she dreamt,
She too, thinking of one far off. . . .
Of distant stars that with his hands he caught. . . .
Long still the mother slept not! But she dreamt,
She too, thinking of one far off. . . .
Yes, at the risk of writing a patchy book, I have here given a place to these lines. I wish to neglect no opportunity of making known the man who plays the leading rôle in my story, so that in the reader’s heart he may awaken some interest, when hereafter dark clouds gather above his head.
