XXV.
DANTE TO BEATRICE.
I.
I
Fair Flower, long sought, for thy dear self I love thee:
Through world or star there's none I prize above thee:
From childhood never have I ceased to sigh for thee:
When thou art gone, I willingly would die for thee.
II
But, ah! that tears and prayers, my Love, could gain thee:
Loosing the dread that I may ne'er attain thee:
The dread that aye hangs o'er me when I view thee:
Trembling to lose thee, trembling still to woo thee.
III
How can I leave thee, how can I forget thee?
Ever in past years tremblingly I met thee:
For fearful joy, sweet sadness, hover'd near thee:
Love had cast spells that made my young heart fear thee.
IV
Now joys and griefs too deep for words surround thee:
And when I see thee, fear throws silence round thee:
—Yet, O! love-silence, as when first I met thee:—
How can I leave thee: how can I forget thee?
