Classic Poem

Es treibt mich hin, es treibt mich her!

It drives me here, it drives me there;
Soon, in an hour or two, I shall meet her,
Yes, she herself, and what thing could be sweeter —
Heart of mine, why are you throbbing with care?

The hours are such a lazy lot!
Creeping along with one foot dragging,
Going the rounds, yawning and lagging —
Come, stir yourselves, you lazy-bones!

Now I am seized with the madness of speed.
Oh, but they never were lovers, these hours;
Banded together with hideous powers
They mock at the lover's unrest and his need.