Lord, turn ilk worm til a butterflee,
Wring oot my hert, an' fill 't frae thy ain;
My soul syne in patience its weird will dree,
An' luik for the mornin throu the rain.
THE END
notes
1
In a lovely garden walking
Two lovers went hand in hand;
Two wan, worn figures, talking
They sat in the flowery land.
On the cheek they kissed one another,
On the mouth with sweet refrain;
Fast held they each the other,
And were young and well again.
Two little bells rang shrilly—
The dream went with the hour:
She lay in the cloister stilly,
He far in the dungeon-tower!
From Uhland.