If a nobler waits for thee,
I will weep aside; It is well that thou should'st be,
Of the nobler, bride.
For if love builds up the home,
Where the heart is free, Homeless yet the heart must roam,
That has not found thee.
One must suffer: I, for her,
Yield in her my part. Take her, thou art worthieró
Still! be still, my heart!
Gift ungotten! largess high
Of a frustrate will! But to yield it lovingly
Is a something still.
Then a little song arose of itself in my soul; and I felt for the moment, while it sang sadly within me, as if I was once more walking up and down the white hall of Phantasy in the Fairy Palace. But this lasted no longer than the song, as will
Do not vex thy violet
Perfume to afford; Else no odour thou wilt get
From its little hoard.
In thy lady's gracious eyes
Look not thou too long; Else from them the glory flies,
And thou dost her wrong.