Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/182

156 Love was in his fevered heart, and pained it, Till it ached for joy she must deny. But the maiden's fears Stayed him, till in tears On the bed he sank, with sobbing cry.

And she leans above him—"Dear one, still thee! Ah, how sad am I to see thee so! But, alas! these limbs of mine would chill thee: Love! they mantle not with passion's glow; Thou wouldst be afraid, Didst thou find the maid Thou hast chosen, cold as ice or snow."

Round her waist his eager arms he bended, With the strength that youth and love inspire; "Wert thou even from the grave ascended, I could warm thee well with my desire!" Panting kiss on kiss! Overflow of bliss! "Burn'st thou not, and feelest me on fire?"

Closer yet they cling, and intermingling. Tears and broken sobs proclaim the rest; His hot breath through all her frame is tingling, There they lie, caressing and caressed. His impassioned mood Warms her torpid blood, Yet there beats no heart within her breast!

Meanwhile goes the mother, softly creeping Through the house, on needful cares intent,