She, the Darling Little Girl

The dearest little maid eyes e'er beheld
And love of life within my heart had dwelled,
Like ivy twines itself around the trees:
So did fair hope all of my heartstrings seize.

The maiden went away, They carried her

To where she henceforth dwells,— her sepulchre,
The doors of which shut on her earthly clay,
To open only on great Judgment-day.

With her, my love of life had also gone,
Accompanied her to her grave and drawn

By forceful ties remaineth with her still;
Will nevermore the old dwelling place fill.
This is the cause my heart 's now quiet, void...
An empty, dreary house, almost destroyed,

And through the ivy which around it grows,
My plaintive sigh, like softest zephyr blows.

There is none who would nurse it here below,
It strives upwards — towards the heaven to grow.
But Oh! Would it be that destructive doubt,
Did not constantly cut each springing sprout.

Who shall then henceforth dwell within my heart,
Which almost into ruins falls apart?
An old hermit might use it at his cell,
His name is death, he'll come therein to dwell.