THE CAPTIVE AND THE FLOWERS, 
FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 
CArTIVE. 
A flower that’s wondrous fair, I know, 
My bosom holds it dear; 
To seek that flower I long to go, 
But am imprison’d here. 
'Tis no light grief oppresses me; 
For in the days my steps were free, 
I had it always near. 
Far round the tower I send mine eye, 
The tower so steep and tall; 
But nowhere can the flower descry 
From this high castle wall; 
And him who’ll bring me my desire 
Or he he knight, or be he squire, 
My dearest friend I’ll call. 
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