Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/381

Rh Blame not thyself, unhappy one! Oft doth the bard an enigma Thus propose to the throng, skilfully hidden in words. Each one enjoys the strange commingling of images graceful, Yet still is wanting the word which will discover the sense. When at length it is found, the heart of each hearer is gladdened, And in the poem he sees meaning of twofold delight. Wherefore so late didst thou remove the bandage, O Amor, Which thou hadst placed o'er mine eyes,—wherefore remove it so late? Long did the vessel, when laden, lie waiting for favouring breezes, Till in kindness the wind blew from the land o'er the sea. Vacant times of youth! and vacant dreams of the future! Ye all vanish, and nought, saving the moment, remains. Yes! it remains,—my joy still remains! I hold thee, my Dora, And thine image alone, Dora, by hope is disclosed. Oft have I seen thee go, with modesty clad, to the temple, While thy mother so dear solemnly went by thy side. Eager and nimble thou wert, in bearing thy fruit to the market, Boldly the pail from the well didst thou sustain on thy head. Then was revealed thy neck, then seen thy shoulders so beauteous, Then, before all things, the grace filling thy motions was seen.