An F . . . s.

     

Geliebte! In dem Ungemach,
Das sich in meinen Pfad gedrängt,
(Ein rauher Pfad, steinicht und brach,
Von allen Seiten eingeengt), –
Kennt meine Seele einen Ort,
Dessen sie freudevoll gedenkt, –
Ein unberührter Zauberhort
In einem weiten Meer versenkt.

Ja, dein geliebtes Bildniß ruht
In meiner Brust als süßer Trost,
Ein Eiland in bewegter Flut,
Von frostigem Gewog’ umtost,
Und doch so wundersam gefeit,
Daß mitten in dem Wellenfrost
Und Sturmesbrausen jederzeit
Die gold’ne Sonne mit ihm kost.

Collection: 
German
Translator Simple: 
Hedwig Lachmann (1865–1918)
1891
Edgar Allan Poe

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