This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1893 edition. Excerpt: ... LOVE. Paraphrased from Heine J-JERE the forest fairies dance On the linden blossoms strewn, And the white and gleaming moon All my jaded sense enchants. The sad-throated nightingale, From on high a shadow moving, Sang of love and pain of loving, And I lingered in the vale. What forgotten dreams awaken, As she ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1893 edition. Excerpt: ... LOVE. Paraphrased from Heine J-JERE the forest fairies dance On the linden blossoms strewn, And the white and gleaming moon All my jaded sense enchants. The sad-throated nightingale, From on high a shadow moving, Sang of love and pain of loving, And I lingered in the vale. What forgotten dreams awaken, As she sings of tears and laughter, And the numbing heart-pains after When our faith is sorely shaken. And I saw with eyes the while Closed, upon the meadow lying, Where the day had touched it, dying With its last celestial smile, A grim palace, grated, barred;--On the long and yellow meadow Shapes of moonlight passed in shadow In and out the castle yard. LOVE. At the gate with eyes of lynx, Half infernal and half human, Lion's claws and breasts of woman, Crouched the fashion of a sphinx. The lips were, oh, so fair and white; I kissed them, and they arched themselves; The strange eyes danced like witching elves Of fire-flies in a tropic night. The nightingale she sang, sang on! And still the marble image glowed Beneath my kisses, and there flowed A warmth from out the groaning stone. She almost drank my breath away In the fierce fire of her embrace, Her talons tore my breast and face, Yet rapturous in her arms I lay. And thus sang on the nightingale: O, love that so doth wound, Strong passion to strong pain is bound, Such is the burden of love's tale. With kisses doth she mingle tears, Here in these woods I idly sing, Yet have I marvelled on the thing, Already many thousand years! IN THE BEER GARDEN. jyjY Gretchen in the garden sings With youthful voice and shrilly; Her songs they are the poorest things, Her gestures weak and silly; Her age hath hardly reached sixteen, She seems a school-girl merely; Her smiles you scarce know what they mean. Her...
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