 | Poems and Translations |  |
13
THE CASKET AND THE FLOWER.
(THIRD ACT OF “FAUST.”)
The leaves with the night-dew are drooping and wet,
The moon has arisen on high;
But there in her garden sits Marguerite yet,
Nor heeds how the hours flit by.
The moon has arisen on high;
But there in her garden sits Marguerite yet,
Nor heeds how the hours flit by.
In one hand a violet fair does she hold,
As blue as her own truthful eyes,
And a burnished and dazzling casket of gold
In the other, glittering, lies.
As blue as her own truthful eyes,
And a burnished and dazzling casket of gold
In the other, glittering, lies.
The moonlight a tear in her earnest eye shows
As she looks on the drooping stem;
And a smile o'er a blush, like the sun on a rose,
When she dwells on the sparkling gem.
As she looks on the drooping stem;
And a smile o'er a blush, like the sun on a rose,
When she dwells on the sparkling gem.
She puts in the waves of her long, golden hair,
The violet, saying, “Thou art
The pledge of a friend who is loving and fair;”
But the jewel she lays on her heart.
The violet, saying, “Thou art
The pledge of a friend who is loving and fair;”
But the jewel she lays on her heart.
14
No sound is breathed forth from the depths of the night,
No zephyr is borne from afar;
But a black cloud comes over the sky so bright,
And darkens the light of a star.
No zephyr is borne from afar;
But a black cloud comes over the sky so bright,
And darkens the light of a star.
January 27th, 1864.
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