The Rose. I. In his tower sat the poet Gazing on the roaring sea, "Take this rose," he sighed, "and throw it Where there's none that loveth me! On the rock the billow bursteth And sinks back into the seas, But in vain my spirit thirsteth So to burst and be at ease. That hath lain against my breast; Die Rose. I. uf dem Thurme sigt der Dichter, „Bring die Rose hin,“ so spricht er, Fällt dann in die Flut zurück; So zu finden Ruh' und Glück. Nimm, o See! die zarten Blüten, Die an meiner Brust geruht; Hate and scorn and hunger follow And with bitter smile did mark Swift into the hungry dark. Foam and spray drive back to leeward, And the gale with dreary moan, Drifts the helpless blossom seaward, Through the breakers all alone. II. Stands a maiden, on the morrow, Musing by the wave-beat strand, Half in hope and half in sorrow, Tracing words upon the sand: "Shall I ever then behold him Who hath been my life so long, Haß und Hohn und Hunger werden Warf sie wirbelnd hin und her. II. Steht die Jungfrau drauf am Morgen Schreibt sie Worte in den Sand: Ter mein Herz erfüllt so lang? Je an diese Brust ihn drücken Leben je in seinem Sang? Laß, o See! den theuren Namen, Den ich schrieb auf deinen Strand Spare his name whose spirit fetters Mine with love forevermore !" Swells the tide and overflows it, But, with omen pure and meet, Brings a little rose, and throws it Humbly at the maiden's feet. Full of bliss she takes the token, And, upon her snowy breast, Soothes the ruffled petals broken With the ocean's fierce unrest. "Love is thine, o heart! and surely Peace shall also be thine own, For the heart that trusteth purely Never long can pine alone." III. In his tower sits the poet, Blisses new and strange to him Fill his heart and overflow it With a wonder sweet and dim. Up the beach the ocean slideth With a whisper of delight, |