English

For such as you, I do believe,
Spirits their softest carpets weave,
And spread them out with gracious hand
Wherever you walk, wherever you stand.

For such as you, of scent and dew
Spirits their rarest nectar brew,
And where you sit and where you sup
Pour beauty's elixir in your cup.

For all day long, like other folk,
You bear the burden, wear the yoke,
And yet when I look into your eyes at eve
You are lovelier than ever, I do believe.

For seven long years I had declared my passion
To the slender and gentle maid: but in vain.
My tongue was eloquent in the expression of my love:
But till last night sorrow was the sole fruit of my cares.
Then I obtained the reward of all my disappointments
From her whose complexion is the image of the wave.
Then, favourably receiving my addresses,
She admitted me to all the happy mysteries of love--
To converse without restraint,
To kiss the dear fair-one with the jetty eyebrows,
And with my arm support her head;

For physic and farces his equal there scarce is;
His farces are physic; his physic a farce is.

For one brief day, did Queenie stay
To brighten each fond heart,
Then sped like dove to realms above,
Ne'er more to feel death's dart.

O! in that land, where infants stand
Arrayed in spotless sheen,
No griefs to share, nor sorrows bear,
No death to intervene.

We would not care, nay, would not dare
To wish thee back again,
Nay, rather say, " Queenie, good day,
Till we your rest attain. "

For noble minds, the worst of miseries,
Worse than old age, or wearisome disease,
Is Poverty. From Poverty to flee,
From some tall precipice into the sea,
It were a fair escape to leap below!
In Poverty, dear Kyrnus, we forego
Freedom in word and deed, body and mind;
Action and thought are fetter'd and confin'd.
Let me then fly, dear Kyrnus, once again!
Wide as the limits of the land and main,
From these entanglements; with these in view,
Death is the lighter evil of the two.

For morning sun and evening dew,
For every bud that April knew,
For storm and silence, gloom and light,
And for the solemn stars at night;
For fallow field and burdened byre,
For roof-tree and the hearth-side fire;
For everything that shines and sings,
For dear, familiar daily things —
The friendly trees, and in the sky
The white cloud-squadrons sailing by;
For hope that waits, for faith that dares
For patience that still smiles and bears,
For love that fails not, nor withstands;

For mercy, courage, kindness, mirth
There is no measure upon earth.
Nay, they wither, root and stem,
If an end be set to them.

Overbrim and overflow
If your own heart you would know;
For the spirit born to bless
Lives but in its own excess.

For me, for me, two horses wait,
Two horses stand before my gate:
Their vast black plumes on high are cast,
Their black manes swing in the midnight blast,
Red sparkles from their eyes fly fast.
But can they drag the hearse behind,
Whose black plumes mystify the wind?
What a thing for this heap of bones and hair!
Despair, despair!
Yet think of half the world's winged shapes
Which have come to thee wondering:
At thee the terrible idiot gapes,
At thee the running devil japes,
And angels stoop to thee and sing

For many thousand ages
The steadfast stars above
Have gazed upon each other
With ever mournful love.

They speak a certain language,
So beautiful, so grand,
Which none of the philologians
Could ever understand.

But I have learned it, learned it,
For ever, by the grace
Of studying one grammar,
My heart's own darling's face.

How is it,
That you, whom I can never know,
My beloved,
Are a wall between me and those I have known well —
So that my familiars vanish
Farther than the blue roofs of Nankow
And are lost among the desert hills?