Page:In memoriam (IA inmemoriam00tennrich).pdf/114



there would be Spring no more, That Nature's ancient power was lost: The streets were black with smoke and frost, They chatter'd trifles at the door.

I wander'd from the noisy town, I found a wood with thorny boughs: I took the thorns to bind my brows, I wore them like a civic crown.

I met with scoffs, I met with scorns From youth and babe and hoary hairs: They call'd me in the public squares The fool that wears a crown of thorns.

They call'd me fool, they call'd me child: I found an angel of the night: The voice was low, the look was bright, He look'd upon my crown and smiled: