Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/378

344 Food for song, where hopest thou to find it? I only can give it, And a more excellent style, love, and love only can teach." Thus did the Sophist discourse. What mortal, alas! could resist him? And when a master commands, I have been trained to obey. Now he deceitfully keeps his word, gives food for my numbers, But, while he does so, alas! robs me of time, strength, and mind. Looks, and pressure of hands, and words of kindness, and kisses, Syllables teeming with thought, by a fond pair are exchanged. Then becomes whispering talk,—and stammering, a language enchanting. Free from all prosody's rules, dies such a hymn on the ear. Thee, Aurora, I used to own as the friend of the Muses; Hath, then, Amor the rogue cheated, Aurora, e'en thee? Thou dost appear to me now as his friend, and again dost awake me Unto a day of delight, while at his altar I kneel. All her locks I find on my bosom, her head is reposing. Pressing with softness the arm, which round her neck is entwined; Oh! what a joyous awakening, ye hours so peaceful, succeeded, Monument sweet of the bliss which had first rocked us to sleep! In her slumber she moves, and sinks, while her face is averted, Far on the breadth of the couch, leaving her hand still in mine.