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[Doth love—doth filial love—delight to vaunt]

Doth love—doth filial love—delight to vaunt
Its own existence?—or, if I should be
Silent this day, wouldst thou inflict the taunt,
Saying, “Thou'rt changed—no thought hast thou of me?”
Not so; within my heart of hearts they dwell,
Dear thoughts of thee (oh! dearer than the breath
Of life itself), and not a power, save death,
Shall pluck them from me. This thou knowest well.
Nor doth my love (enamoured of its own
Sweet self) court notice in the Poet's lay.
Then wherefore sing? A voice of heavenly tone
Comes annual to me on thy natal day,
And whispers, even as now, “Pass not her shrine
Unhonoured.” Therefore I this chaplet twine.
Berlin; March 13th, 1849.