A youth, light-hearted and content,
  I wander through the world
Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent
  And straight again is furled.
Yet oft I dream, that once a wife
  Close in my heart was locked,
And in the sweet repose of life
  A blessed child I rocked.
I wake! Away that dream,—away!
  Too long did it remain!
So long, that both by night and day
  It ever comes again.
The end lies ever in my thought;
  To a grave so cold and deep
The mother beautiful was brought;
  Then dropt the child asleep.
But now the dream is wholly o'er,
  I bathe mine eyes and see;
And wander through the world once more,
  A youth so light and free.
Two locks—and they are wondrous fair—
  Left me that vision mild;
The brown is from the mother's hair,
  The blond is from the child.
  I wander through the world
Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent
  And straight again is furled.
Yet oft I dream, that once a wife
  Close in my heart was locked,
And in the sweet repose of life
  A blessed child I rocked.
I wake! Away that dream,—away!
  Too long did it remain!
So long, that both by night and day
  It ever comes again.
The end lies ever in my thought;
  To a grave so cold and deep
The mother beautiful was brought;
  Then dropt the child asleep.
But now the dream is wholly o'er,
  I bathe mine eyes and see;
And wander through the world once more,
  A youth so light and free.
Two locks—and they are wondrous fair—
  Left me that vision mild;
The brown is from the mother's hair,
  The blond is from the child.
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