I
EIN FICHTENBAUM
A fir-tree standeth lonely
On a barren northern height,
Asleep, while winter covers
His rest with robes of white.
In dreams, he sees a palm-tree
In the golden morning-land;
She droops alone and silent
In burning wastes of sand.
II
DU BIST WIE EINE BLUME
Fair art thou as a flower
And innocent and shy:
I look on thee and sorrow;
I grieve, I know not why.
I long to lay, in blessing,
My hand upon thy brow,
And pray that God may keep thee
As fair and pure as now.
