I.

       &nbspBettine, friend of Goethe,
Hadst thou the second sight—
Upturning worship and delight
       &nbspWith such a loving duty
To his grand face, as women will,
The childhood 'neath thine eyelids still?

II.

       &nbsp—Before his shrine to doom thee,
Using the same child's smile
That heaven and earth, beheld erewhile
       &nbspFor the first time, won from thee
Ere star and flower grew dim and dead
Save at his feet and o'er his head?

III.

       &nbsp—Digging thine heart and throwing
Away its childhood's gold,
That so its woman-depth might hold
       &nbspHis spirit's overflowing?
(For surging souls, no worlds can bound,
Their channel in the heart have found.)
IV.


       &nbspO child, to change appointed,
Thou hadst not second sight!
What eyes the future view aright
       &nbspUnless by tears anointed?
Yea, only tears themselves can show
The burning ones that have to flow.

V.

       &nbspO woman, deeply loving,
Thou hadst not second sight!
The star is very high and bright,
       &nbspAnd none can see it moving.
Love looks around, below, above,
Yet all his prophecy is—love.

VI.

       &nbspThe bird thy childhood's playing
Sent onward o'er the sea,
Thy dove of hope came back to thee
       &nbspWithout a leaf: art laying
Its wet cold wing no sun can dry,
Still in thy bosom secretly?
VII.

       &nbspOur Goethe's friend, Bettine,
I have the second sight!
The stone upon his grave is white,
       &nbspThe funeral stone between ye;
And in thy mirror thou hast viewed
Some change as hardly understood.

VIII.

       &nbspWhere's childhood? where is Goethe?
The tears are in thine eyes.
Nay, thou shalt yet reorganize
       &nbspThy maidenhood of beauty
In his own glory, which is smooth
Of wrinkles and sublime in youth.

IX.


       &nbspThe poet's arms have wound thee,
He breathes upon thy brow,
He lifts thee upward in the glow
       &nbspOf his great genius round thee,—
The childlike poet undefiled
Preserving evermore The Child.