We spoke of distant countries
    From North to South that range,
  Of strange fantastic nations,
    And their customs quaint and strange.

  The Ganges is flooded with splendor,
    And perfumes waft through the air,
  And gentle people are kneeling
    To Lotos flowers fair.

  In Lapland the people are dirty,
    Flat-headed, large-mouthed, and small;
  They squat round the fire and, frying
    Their fishes, they shout and they squall.

  The girls all gravely listened,
    Not a word was spoken at last;
  The ship we could see no longer,
    Darkness was settling so fast.

3[30]

  You lovely fisher-maiden,
    Bring now the boat to land;
  Come here and sit beside me,
    We’ll prattle hand in hand.

  Your head lay on my bosom,
    Nor be afraid of me;
  Do you not trust all fearless
    Daily the great wild sea?

  My heart is like the sea, dear,
    Has storm, and ebb, and flow,
  And many purest pearl-gems
    Within its dim depth glow.

4[31]

  My child, we were two children,
    Small, merry by childhood’s law;
  We used to creep to the henhouse,
    And hide ourselves in the straw.

  We crowed like cocks, and whenever
    The passers near us drew—­
  “Cock-a-doodle!” They thought
    ’Twas a real cock that crew.

  The boxes about our courtyard
    We carpeted to our mind,
  And lived there both together—­
    Kept house in a noble kind.

  The neighbor’s old cat often
    Came to pay us a visit;
  We made her a bow and courtesy,
    Each with a compliment in it.

  After her health we asked,
    Our care and regard to evince—­
  (We have made the very same speeches
    To many an old cat since).

  We also sat and wisely
    Discoursed, as old folks do,
  Complaining how all went better
    In those good old times we knew—­

  How love, and truth, and believing
    Had left the world to itself,
  And how so dear was the coffee,
    And how so rare was the pelf.

  The children’s games are over,
    The rest is over with youth—­
  The world, the good games, the good times,
    The belief, and the love, and the truth.

5[32]

  E’en as a lovely flower,
    So fair, so pure thou art;
  I gaze on thee, and sadness
    Comes stealing o’er my heart.

  My hands I fain had folded
    Upon thy soft brown hair,
  Praying that God may keep thee
    So lovely, pure, and fair.

6[33]

  I would that my love and its sadness
    Might a single word convey,
  The joyous breezes should bear it,
    And merrily waft it away.

  They should waft it to thee, beloved,
    This soft and wailful word,
  At every hour thou shouldst hear it,
    Where’er thou art ’twould be heard.