Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/304

270 I do not now begin,—I still adore Her whom I early cherished in my breast, Then once again with prudence dispossessed, And to whose heart I'm driven back once more.

The love of Petrarch, that all-glorious love, Was unrequited, and, alas, full sad; One long Good Friday 'twas, one heartache drear; But may my mistress' Advent ever prove, With its palm-jubilee, so sweet and glad, One endless May-day, through the livelong year!

 CHARADE.

 THE SOLDIER'S CONSOLATION. 