Early Works of Karl Marx: Book of Verse
Three distant lights gleam quietly,
They shine like starry eyes to see.
The storm may rage, the wind may shout,
The little lights are not blown out.
One sweetly struggles ever higher,
Trembling to Heaven it would aspire.
It blinks its eye so trustingly,
As if the All-Father it could see.
The other looks down on Earth's halls,
And hears the echoing victory calls,
Turns to its sisters in the sky,
Inspired with silent prophecy.
The last one burns with golden fire,
The flames shoot forth, it sinks entire,
The waves plunge in its heart and--see!-
Swell up into a flowering tree.
Then three small lights gleam quietly
In turn, like starry eyes to see.
The storm may rage, the wind may blow,
Two souls in one are happy now.