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Kneel down, O love Louise, kneel down! he said,
He watch'd the snow melting, it ran through my hair, Ran over my shoulders, white shoulders and bare.
I cannot weep for thee, poor love Louise,
In a gold and blue casket she keeps all my tears,
Yea, they grow grey with time, grow small and dry, I am so feeble now, would I might die.
And in truth the great bell overhead
Will he come back again, or is he dead?
Or did they strangle him as he lay there,
Only I pray thee, Lord, let him come here!
Dear Lord, that loves me, I wait to receive
Through the floor shot up a lily red,
With a patch of earth from the land of the dead,
Jiriczek, Englische Dichter.
What matter that his cheeks were pale,
What if his hair that brush'd her cheek
O, love Louise, this is the key
And ever the great bell overhead,
THE TUNE OF SEVEN TOWERS. [The Defence of Guenevere etc. 1858.]
No one goes there now;
For what is left to fetch away
No one walks there now;
The white ghosts walk in a row;
But none can see them now,
Though they sit by the side of the moat, Feet half in the water, there in a row, Long hair in the wind afloat. Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers, This is the tune of Seven Towers.
If any will go to it now,
He must go to it all alone,
Of glittering spears: will you go alone?
By my love go there now,
My coif and my kirtle, with pearls arow,
Therefore, said fair Yoland of the flowers,
I am unhappy now,
I cannot tell you why;
If you go, the priests and I in a row Will pray that you may not die. Listen! said fair Yoland of the flowers, This is the tune of Seven Towers.
you will go for me now,
[She sayeth inwardly.]
[The Defence of Guenevere etc. 1858.]
A SHIP with shields before the sun,
A red-gold crown on every one,
The fluttering green banners there
A ship with sails before the wind,
Their heaumes are on, whereby, half blind,
The tatter'd scarlet banners there
Right soon will leave the spear-heads bare.
In all their heaumes some yellow hair.
A GARDEN BY THE SEA.
[Poems by the Way 1891. Mit geringen Abweichungen, bereits in "Jason" 1867.]
I KNOW a little garden-close,
Set thick with lily and red rose,
Where I would wander if I might
And though within it no birds sing,
There comes a murmur from the shore,
For which I cry both day and night,
Yet tottering as I am and weak,
Once seen, once kissed, once reft from me