TO —

[ZaunköniG]

TO THE SAME

I thought that I could ever happy be,
Married to meditation, and my lyre,
Charming the moments on with melody
That fills the ear with musical desire;

But now far other thoughts my breast inspire;
I find no happiness in poesy;
Within my soul burns a diviner fire,
For now my heart is full of love and Thee!

Yet 'tis a melancholy thing to love,
When Fate or Expectation shuts the door,
When all the mercy I can hope, above
Mere friendship, is thy pity, — and no more,

For who could love a being such as me,
Thy most unhappy son, Fatality?