EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY

The sun sinks, And the calm flood Already is gilded. Warm breathes the rock: Did happiness at noonday Take its siesta well upon it? In green light Happiness still glimmers up from the brown abyss Day of my life! Eventide's nigh, Thy eye already Glows half-broken, Thy dew already Pours out its tear-drops, Already over the white seas Walks the purple of thy love, Thy last hesitating holiness.... 3 Golden gaiety, come! Thou, the sweetest foretaste—