Where would impatient feet be turned to-day
If in the longed-for laud beyond the sea ? .
To storied marbles, or to ruins gray,
Whose fame, since childhood, has been haunting me?
Nay, to a mound that waiteth for a stone
Would I be guided, there to weep alone
Over the relic that a spirit flown
Hath left at Badenweiler.
He can no longer take the birthday gift,
But were I near my offering he should wear:
I'd drop him flowers until the odor-drift
Should seem to melt through earth and reach him there.
Though faint the strongest comfort I could get,
Would that these yearning eyes his grave had met;
'T would be my emerald, in sorrow set,
That grave at Badenweiler.
This the first birthday he has felt no kiss!
To-day, still heart, how sadly do I keep!
Thy life from mine so sorely do I miss,
Into thy rest sometimes I long to creep.
0, make me sure as though thy lips had told
That we draw closer for death's bitter cold, —
That it hath drawn us nearer than of old,
That grave at Badenweiler.