Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/303

Rh I'd fain, in speeches sweet with skill combined, Poetic sweetmeats for the feast provide; But why in such frivolities confide? Perish the thought, with flattery to blind!

One sweet thing there is still, that from within, Within us speaks,—that may be felt afar; This may be wafted o'er to thee alone. If thou a recollection fond canst win. As if with pleasure gleamed each well-known star, The smallest gift thou never wilt disown.

 THE WARNING.

 THE EPOCHS.

Petrarch's heart, all other days before, In flaming letters written, was impressed . And on mine, be it confessed, Is this year's, as it passeth o'er. 