Classic Poem

Meiner goldgelockten Schonen

My adored and golden-haired one,
Every day I'm sure to meet her,
When beneath the chestnut branches
In the Tuileries she wanders.

Every day she comes and walks there
With two old and awful ladies —
Are they aunts? Or are they dragons?
Or dragoons in skirts and flounces?

No one even seems to know her.
I have asked friends and relations;
But I ask in vain. I question
While I almost die of longing.

Yes, I'm frightened by the grimness
Of her two mustached companions;
And I'm even more upset by
This, my heart's unusual beating.

I have never dared a whisper
Or a sigh whene'er I passed her,
I have scarcely dared a burning
Glance to tell her of my passion.

But to-day I have discovered
What her name is. It is Laura;
Like the sweet, Provençal maiden
Worshiped by the famous poet.

She is Laura! I'm as great now
As was Petrarch when he chanted
And extolled his lovely lady
In those canzonets and sonnets.

She is Laura! Yes, like Petrarch,
I can hold platonic riots
On this name, and clasp its beauty —
He himself did nothing more.