Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/320

286 Our guileless child's-sport long was hushed In memory's tomb, like some old lay; And yet across my mind it rushed With pristine force the other day. The New-Poetic Catholics In every point its aptness fix!

 SONGS.

 A PARABLE.

a rustic nosegay lately, And bore it homewards, musing greatly; When, heated by my hand, I found The heads all drooping toward the ground. I placed them in a well-cooled glass, And what a wonder came to pass! The heads soon raised themselves once more, The stalks were blooming as before, 