Oh, wondrous beauty of the morning skies! 
  Oh, wide green fields with beady dew impearled! 
The lark soars upward, singing as she flies,
  Oh, wave of free, swift wings, oh, happy world!

Oh, wordless wonder of the evening sky,
  Far ivory citadels with flags unfurled;
Deep sapphire seas where rosy fleets float by
  The golden shores remote; oh, happy world!

Oh, my blue violets by the laughing brook! 
  My shy, sweet darlings, in your green leaves curled,
Bright eyes, sometime you will all vainly look
  For me, your lover.  Oh, the happy world!

So passed the days of spring, and she must sign
Dull papers to appease the hungry law,
And to the castle down a writer came;
No graybeard old, and dryer than his tomes,
A tall, fair-faced youth, with bright, bold gaze,
And blood that leaped afresh like crimson wine,
Rash blood that led him to leap o’er a gate
Five-barred, within the mossy park, upon
The knight’s old stumbling steed that played him false
To its own harm, for which it lost its life,
More fortunate the youth, though bruised he,
And bleeding from his many grievous wounds,
And Gladys tended him with gentlest care
Till love crept in and took the place of pain,
And in her heart took Pity’s weeping place
And dwelt a king.  He knew she was the bride
Of Heaven, not to be vexed with earthly love,
But yet, upon the last night of his stay,
As by the lake’s low marge he met the maid,
And saw her soft eyes fall before his own,
He laid an almond blossom in her hand,
A blossom that both sweet and bitter is,
And said but this, “Say, is dear love a dream?”

“Nay, not a dream,” she murmured, looking out
To where the light upon the waters lay,
A golden pathway leading to the sun,
“Dear love the wakening is, this life we live
Is but a dream.”  Then with a sudden hope
He would have caught her hands, but no, she clasped
Them o’er the snowy muslin on her breast,
And on her heart like drops of crimson blood,
There lay the almond blossoms, bitter, sweet;
And far away her pure eyes looked adown
That shining path across the summer sea,
“Nay, life a long dream is, a sleep that lasts
Until we waken in the land of love.” 
But though thus calmly did she speak to him,
When he had gone to hide his breaking heart
As best he might, to bravely bide his time,
And do his life work as she bade him do,
Then all her lonely haunts echoed this cry,
This cry of deeper anguish—­“Oh, my heart!”

Why did I pray for one more summer bright,
  The outward world but held me in time past;
Now, life and love have added links of might,
  A chain that fetters me, that holds me fast;
I will, I will obey, but oh, my heart!

My life was like some little mountain spring
  By slight waves stirred till some deep overflow
Swift breaks its peace, then with its risen king
  Down to the mighty deep it needs must go;
Thus did I follow love, but oh, my heart!