C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

To the Beloved

Translation of Thomas Davidson

I HOLD him as the gods above,

The man who sits before thy feet,

And, near thee, hears thee whisper sweet,

And brighten with the smiles of love.

Thou smiledst: like a timid bird

My heart cowered fluttering in its place.

I saw thee but a moment’s space,

And yet I could not frame a word.

My tongue was broken; ’neath my skin

A subtle flame shot over me;

And with my eyes I could not see;

My ears were filled with whirling din.

And then I feel the cold sweat pour,

Through all my frame a trembling pass;

My face is paler than the grass:

To die would seem but little more.