Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/381

Blame not thyself, unhappy one! Oft doth the bard an enigma
⁠Thus propose to the throng, skilfully hidden in words.
Each one enjoys the strange commingling of images graceful,
⁠Yet still is wanting the word which will discover the sense.
When at length it is found, the heart of each hearer is gladdened,
⁠And in the poem he sees meaning of twofold delight.
Wherefore so late didst thou remove the bandage, O Amor,
⁠Which thou hadst placed o'er mine eyes,—wherefore remove it so late?
Long did the vessel, when laden, lie waiting for favouring breezes,
⁠Till in kindness the wind blew from the land o'er the sea.
Vacant times of youth! and vacant dreams of the future!
⁠Ye all vanish, and nought, saving the moment, remains.
Yes! it remains,—my joy still remains! I hold thee, my Dora,
⁠And thine image alone, Dora, by hope is disclosed.
Oft have I seen thee go, with modesty clad, to the temple,
⁠While thy mother so dear solemnly went by thy side.
Eager and nimble thou wert, in bearing thy fruit to the market,
⁠Boldly the pail from the well didst thou sustain on thy head.
Then was revealed thy neck, then seen thy shoulders so beauteous,

⁠Then, before all things, the grace filling thy motions was seen.