In den Bildern von Watteau
Sehn wir auf beblümten Wiesen
Wandeln, jung und lebensfroh,
Kleine zierliche Marguisen.
Im Brokatkleid, hochtoupiert,
Wandeln sie im Abendscheine,
Mit dem Fächer kokettiert
Ihre Hand, die liebe kleine.
Fächelnd ihres Busens Schnee,
Lächelnd mit dem roten...
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Saint Agnes’ EVE,—ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
The hare limped trembling through the frozen grass,
And silent was the flock in woolly fold:
Numb were the beadsman’s fingers while he told
His rosary, and while his frosted breath,
Like pious incense from a censer old,
Seemed taking flight for heaven... -
Deep on the convent-roof the snows
Are sparkling to the moon:
My breath to heaven like vapor goes:
May my soul follow soon!
The shadows of the convent-towers
Slant down the snowy sward,
Still creeping with the creeping hours
That lead me to my Lord:
Make Thou my spirit pure and clear
As are the frosty skies,...