Now she smiles upon him, and is shedding gentle tears.

1835.

JEALOUSY.

DAMP day's light is quenched: damp night's darkness

Stretches over the sky its leaden garment.

Like a ghost, from behind the pine wood

Foggy moon has risen....

- All brings upon my soul darkness grievous.

Far, far away rises the shining moon,

There the earth is filled with evening warmth

There the sea moveth with luxuriant wave

Under the heavens blue....

Now is the time. On the hillside now she walks

To the shore washed by noisy waves.

There, under the billowed cliffs

Alone she sits now melancholy....

Alone... none before her weeping, grieves not,

Her knees none kisses in ecstasy.

Alone... to lips of none she is yielding

Her shoulders, nor moist lips, nor snow-white fingers.

None is worthy of her heavenly love.

Is it not so? Thou art alone.... Thou weepest....

And I at peace? -

But if -

1823.

IN AN ALBUM.

THE name of me, what is it to thee

Die it shall like the grievous sound

Of wave, playing on distant shore,

As sound of night in forest dark.

Upon the sheet of memory

Its traces dead leave it shall

Inscriptions-like of grave-yard

In some foreign tongue.

What is in it? Long ago forgotten

In tumultuous waves and fresh