Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/59

Rh Down my cheeks run tears all-burning, If I do, or leave my task; I but feel a speechless yearning, That pervades my inmost breast.

But at length I see the reason, When the question I would ask: 'Twas in such a beauteous season, Doris glowed to make me blest!

 PRESENCE. 