With a Volume of Heine

Like some young flower, cool and white

With the stars' kiss still on its brow,

You shine through my heart's dusk, and light

The dark concern that gathers now.

Half on my lips, a fearful hope

Starts like a prayer, already planned.

Toward your bright head my fingers grope...

But something holds my hand.

Prayers are not what you want. I see

That, when all other beauty fails,

You will not alter, you will be

So white and young -- and hard as nails.