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

The Rose-Wreath

By Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock (1724–1803)

Translation of William Nind

I FOUND her by the shady rill;

I bound her with a wreath of rose:

She felt it not, but slumbered still.

I looked on her; and on the spot

My life with hers did blend and close:

I felt it, but I knew it not.

Some lisping, broken words I spoke,

And rustled light the wreath of rose;

Then from her slumber she awoke.

She looked on me; and from that hour

Her life with mine did blend and close;

And round us it was Eden’s bower.