|
I
I am quite used to hold my
Head up high,
My Spirit too is rather a hard case;
Were the King to look me in the Face,
I wouldn't drop my Eyes like one who's shy.
Yet Mother dear, plainly will
I cry:
How mighty ever my proud Will inflates,
In your sweet blessed Presence, nighmost grace,
Oft I'm seized with mere Timidity.
Is it your Soul that secretly
me binds,
Your noble Soul, that pierces all bold kinds
And flashing to the light of Heaven winds?
Pains me Memory, that so many
Things
I've done, which to your Heart have been as stings,
The fair Heart, that Love unto me brings?
II
In wild Madness did I once
forsake you;
I would go the wide World to its End
And would see if I Love there could find,
And filled with loving Love at last embrace.
Love sought I in each and
every Place,
In front of every Door I stretched my Hand
And begged there for the alms of Love to spend—
Yet laughing they gave nought but chilly Hatred.
And so I wandered after Love,
ever
After Love, yet Love found I never
And turned me unto Home, sick as a dove.
And there at last you were
come out to greet me,
And oh! what in your Eyes swam ever sweetly,
Was nought but what I'd long sought after, Love.
|