The Rhine and The Moselle
As the glory of the sun, When the dismal night is done, Leaps upward in the summer-blue to shine, So gloriously flows From his cradle in the snows The king of all the river floods—the Rhine. As a mailed and sceptred king Sweeps onwards triumphing, With waves of helmets flashing in his line, As a drinker past control With the red wine on his soul, So flashes through his vintages—the Rhine. As a lady who would speak What is written on her cheek, If her heart would give her tongue the leave to tell; Who fears and follows still, And dares not trust her will, So follows all his windings—the Moselle. Like the silence that is broken, When the wished-for word is spoken, And the heart hath a home where it may dwell; Like the sense of sudden bliss, And the first long loving kiss Is the meeting of the Rhine and the Moselle. Like the two lives that are blended When the loneliness is ended, The loneliness each heart hath known so well; Like the sun and moon together In a sky of splendid weather, Is the marriage of the Rhine and the Moselle.
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