That time of year thou may'st in me behold,
When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day,
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,—
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie;
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.Shakspeare. [Sonnet LXXIII.]
Aber zufrieden mit stillerem Ruhme,
Brechen die Frauen des Augenblick's Blume,
Nahren sie sorgsam mit liebendem Fleiss,
Freier in ihrem gebundenen Wirken,
Reicher als er in des Wissens Bezirken
Und in der Dichtung unendlichem Kreiz.
Not like to like, but like in difference; .
Yet in the long years liker must they grow,—
The man be more of woman, she of man;
He gain in sweetness and in moral height,
Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world;
She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care,
More as the double-natured poet each;
Till at the last she set herself to man,
Like perfect music unto noble words.