A youth, light-hearted and content,
       &nbsp I wander through the world
Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent
       &nbsp And straight again is furled.

Yet oft I dream, that once a wife
       &nbsp Close in my heart was locked,
And in the sweet repose of life
       &nbsp A blessed child I rocked.

I wake! Away that dream,—away!
       &nbsp Too long did it remain!
So long, that both by night and day
       &nbsp It ever comes again.

The end lies ever in my thought;
       &nbsp To a grave so cold and deep
The mother beautiful was brought;
       &nbsp Then dropt the child asleep.

But now the dream is wholly o'er,
       &nbsp I bathe mine eyes and see;
And wander through the world once more,
       &nbsp A youth so light and free.

Two locks—and they are wondrous fair—
       &nbsp Left me that vision mild;
The brown is from the mother's hair,
       &nbsp The blond is from the child.
And when I see that lock of gold,
       &nbsp Pale grows the evening-red;
And when the dark lock I behold,
       &nbsp I wish that I were dead.