The Village Street - PROJECT LA

IN these rapid, restless shadows,

Once I walked at eventide,

When a gentle, silent maiden,

Walked in beauty at my side

She alone there walked beside me

All in beauty, like a bride.

Pallidly the moon was shining

On the dewy meadows nigh;

On the silvery, silent rivers,

on the mountains far and high

On the ocean’s star-lit waters,

Where the winds a-weary die Slowly,

silently we wandered

From the open cottage door,

Underneath the elm’s long branches

To the pavement bending o’er;

Underneath the mossy willow

And the dying sycamore.

With the myriad stars in beauty

All bedight, the heavens were seen,

Radiant hopes were bright around me,

Like the light of stars serene;

Like the mellow midnight splendor of the Night’s Trradiate queen.

Audibly the elm-leaves whispered Peaceful, pleasant melodies,

Like the distant murmured music of unquiet, lovely seas:

While the winds were hushed in stumber In the fragrant flowers and

trees.

Wondrous and unwonted beauty Still adorning all did seem,

While I told my love in fables 'Neath the willows by the stream,

Would the heart have kept unspoken Love that was its rarest dream!

Instantly away we wandered In the shadowy twilight tide, She,

the silent, scornful maiden, Walking calmly at my side,

With a step serene and stately, All in beauty, all in pride.

Swift and keen there came unto me Ritter memories of the past On me,

like the rain in Autumn On the dead leaves,

cold and fast Underneath the elms we parte By the lowly cottage door;

One brief word alone was uttered Never on our lips before;

And away I walked forlornly, Broken-hearted evermore.

Slowly,

silently I loitered, Homeward, in the night, alone;

Sudden anguish bound my spirit,

That my youth had never known Wild unrest,

like that which cometh When the Night’s tmst dream hath flown.

Now,

to me the elm-leaves whisper Mad, discordant melodies,

And keen melodies like shadows ttaunt the moaning willow

trees, And the sycamores with laughter Mock me in the nightly breeze.

Sad and pale the Autumn moonlight Through the sighing foliage

streams;

And each morning, midnight shadow,

Shadow of my sorrow seems;

Strive, heart,

forget thine idol!

And, o soul, forget thy dreams!