Early Works of Karl Marx: Book of Verse
In flowery grove I lost my way
Where forest spring showers silver spray
In murmuring fall, o'erhead
The lofty bay trees spread.
They see it ever rushing fleet,
They see it flowing at their feet,
Burn in sweet shadows there
To mate with Sea and Air.
But when it flees the hard land's thrall,
Loud thundering smites the rocky wall.
Dizzy the flood spins round
In mist-rings with no sound.
Through flowery groves it roams again,
Swallowing deep draughts of Death's pain,
And then the tall bay trees
Waft down sweet reveries.