AUF WIEDERSEHEN!

THE little gate was reached at last, Half hid in lilacs down the lane; She pushed it wide, and, as she past, A wistful look she backward cast, And said,—“Auf wiedersehen!” With hand on latch, a vision white Lingered reluctant, and again Half doubting if she did aright, Soft as the dews that fell that night, She said,—“Auf wiedersehen!” The lamp’s clear gleam flits up the stair; I linger in delicious pain; Ah, in that chamber, whose rich air To breathe in thought I scarcely dare, Thinks she,—“Auf wiedersehen!” ’Tis thirteen years; once more I press The turf that silences the lane; I hear the rustle of her dress, I smell the lilacs, and—ah, yes, I hear “Auf wiedersehen!” Sweet piece of bashful maiden art! The English words had seemed too fain, But these—they drew us heart to heart, Yet held us tenderly apart; She said,—“Auf wiedersehen!”

STILL thirteen years: ’tis autumn now On field and hill, in heart and brain; The naked trees at evening sough; The leaf to the forsaken bough Sighs not,—“We meet again!” Two watched yon oriole’s pendent dome, That now is void, and dank with rain, And one,—O, hope more frail than foam! The bird to his deserted home Sings not,—“We meet again!” The loath gate swings with rusty creak; Once, parting there, we played at pain; There came a parting, when the weak And fading lips essayed to speak Vainly,—“We meet again!” Somewhere is comfort, somewhere faith, Though thou in outer dark remain; One sweet sad voice ennobles death, And still for eighteen centuries saith Softly,—“Ye meet again!” If earth another grave must bear, Yet heaven hath won a sweeter strain, And something whispers my despair, That, from an orient chamber there, Floats down, “We meet again!” James Russell Lowell.