While stepping into the carriage she turned her head and threw me a swift
glance of farewell.

This was her last gift to me. But where can I keep it safe from the
trampling hours?

Must evening sweep this gleam of anguish away, as it will the last flicker
of fire from the sunset?

Ought it to be washed off by the rain, as treasured pollens are from
heart-broken flowers?

Leave kingly glory and the wealth of the rich to death. But may not tears
keep ever fresh the memory of a glance flung through a passionate moment?

"Give it to me to keep," said my song; "I never touch kings' glory or the
wealth of the rich, but these small things are mine for ever."



5


You give yourself to me, like a flower that blossoms at night, whose
presence is known by the dew that drips from it, by the odour shed through
the darkness, as the first steps of Spring are by the buds that thicken the
twigs.

You break upon my thought like waves at the high tide, and my heart is
drowned under surging songs.