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Poems of Goethe

THE LOVING ONE ONCE MORE.

WHY do I o'er my paper once more bend?

Ask not too closely, dearest one, I pray

For, to speak truth, I've nothing now to say;
Yet to thy hands at length 'twill come, dear friend.

Since I can come not with it, what I send

My undivided heart shall now convey,

With all its joys, hopes, pleasures, pains, to-day:
All this hath no beginning, hath no end.

Henceforward I may ne'er to thee confide

How, far as thought, wish, fancy, will, can reach,

  My faithful heart with thine is surely blended.

Thus stood I once enraptured by thy side,

Gazed on thee, and said nought. What need of speech?

  My very being in itself was ended.

                                18078.