Classic Poem

Heller wird es schon im Osten

Comes a spark, the sun's first glimmer;
And the eastern sky's in motion.
Far and faint the mountain summits
Float upon a misty ocean.

Had I seven-league boots, I'd hasten
With the wind, as fast as telling;
Running on the tops of mountains
Till I reach my dear one's dwelling.

I would draw the curtains softly
From her bed, where she lies dreaming;
Softly I would kiss her forehead
And her lips twin rubies gleaming.

And still softer I would whisper
In her frail and lily ear, " Love,
Dream we've never lost each other;
Dream we're lovers still, my dear love. "