Who knows where wanders ship on lonely sea?
Who tells what guides us onward to our love?
Why early blossoms fade to me and thee,
And later ones bear fruit our hopes above?
How next may move the searching wind and storm,
With desolation fraught, or strength, who knows?
Was that the love for which the child was born,
Begun in bliss, continuous in its woes?
Why flowers so sweetly bloom on Alpine heights,
Untouched, and scarcely seen 'mid ice and snow?
Why weakest vessels bear such heavy freights?
And you, my Love, my love may never know,
And time stretch forth to me increasing pain,
And loveless, hopeless life alone remain.