The Wind and the Beam loved the Rose

The Wind and the Beam loved the Rose,
And the Rose loved one:
For who recks the Wind where it blows?
Or loves not the Sun?

None knew whence the humble Wind stole,
Poor sport of the skies:
None dreamt that the Wind had a soul
In it's mournful sighs.

O happy Beam, how canst thou prove
That bright love of thine?
In thy light is the proof of thy love,
Thou hast but to shine.

How its love can the Wind reveal?
Unwelcome its sigh:
Mute, mute to the Rose let it steal —
Its proof is — to die!