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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.  The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes.  1917.
 
Sad Spring
By Friedrich Rückert (1788–1866)
 
From the series of sonnets entitled ‘In Memory of Agnes’:
Translation of Charles Timothy Brooks

“SWEET SPRING is here,” I heard men say and sing;
  Then went I forth to seek where he might be:
  I found the buds on every bush and tree,
But nowhere could I find my darling, Spring.
Birds sang, the bees they hummed, but everything        5
  They sang or hummed was sad as sad could be;
  Rills gushed, but all their waves were tears to me;
Suns laughed,—no joy to me their looks could bring.
  Nor of my darling could I find a trace,
Till with my pilgrim staff I took my way        10
  To a well-known but long-neglected place,
And there I found him, Spring: near where she lay,
  He sate, a beauteous boy, with tearful face,
Like one who weeps above a mother’s clay.
 
 
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