TO THE STARS.
25
They freed my vision from its spell,
And led my steps o’er hill and dell,
Far from that sprite-frequented fell;
And pointed out the road to Mon,
The way my love-sick heart had flown.
(Alas, this wayward heart of mine!)
But not till morning did I gain,
By a long sleepless night of pain,
The palace of the maid divine.
Ah, maiden, miracle of Mon!
Again at midnight will I never
Thus rove for thee—thus strive to shiver[1]
With axe of wood a rock of stone.
- ↑ A kind of proverb implying a hopeless or unprofitable enterprise.
