A Tinge of Blue

In far off wood do leaves of trees
To have a tinge of blue still seem?

When o'er it sweeps the stormy breeze,
Is foamy still the Danube stream,

As foams the fiery stud which flies
When rider bold the whip applies?
Doth still grow red the fair bride, — dawn, —
When her groom, — the sun — makes his call?
Sad widow's tears over the lawn,
The night's dew drops, — do still they fall
When as night heaven and earth enfolds,
The stars — her orphans — she beholds?
At one time my horizon knew
Xo bounds and I could see it all.
A tiny grave — my sweetheart's — grew —
Methinks — into a mountain wall,
Which now shuts from my purblind eye
All of the world, the earth, the sky.