Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/301

Rh THE DOUBTERS AND THE LOVERS.

 SHE CANNOT END.

unto thee I sent the page all white, Instead of first thereon inscribing aught, The space thou doubtless filledst up in sport, And sent it me to make my joy grow bright.

As soon as the blue cover met my sight, As well becomes a woman, quick as thought I tore it open, leaving hidden nought, And read the well-known words of pure delight: 